


HUNTED

by TheAuthorAgain



Series: LOVED [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Barton Family, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Clint Barton's Farm, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Strong Language, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorAgain/pseuds/TheAuthorAgain
Summary: When a cataclysmic mistake is made, Steve and Bucky must find a way to manage the consequences. What bonds can be trusted under pressure?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: LOVED [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048369
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	1. A Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> If you did not read the tags, this story contains strong language, graphic sexual content, and non-graphic self harm. These things are not included with the intent of upsetting anyone, they are used tastefully to further the plot in a more complex way. Please reach out if you have a specific trigger that you want me to make sure is not in this story, something that I wouldn't know to include a warning for. Stay safe and enjoy HUNTED!

I'm breathing heavily, feeling the weight of my secret disappear only to have the terror of my situation fill its place. Why did I say that, why did I say that, why the fuck did I have to say that-

"Barnes is alive?" Tony continues incredulously, looking at me with the same horrified confusion as the rest of them. I try to speak, but the words choke in my throat. My heart feels like it's beating out of my chest, my eyes sting with desperate tears, my stomach threatens to hurl up everything I've ever eaten, but I can't do anything but stand here, frozen. Their eyes feel like they're boring into me, and my head is screaming at me to do something, anything that can reverse the horrible mistake I just made.

"Barnes is alive," Tony states, his shock quickly morphing to anger. I close my eyes, unable to look at the rage, too scared to accept that this is actually happening. Because I'm living through my worst nightmare. Sam and Bucky said that it would never come to this, that people would be accepting for the most part, but now I'm here.

"What the fuck, Steve!" Tony roars, and I flinch. "You've been hiding him this entire time? What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I can't believe this, I can't believe you would do this!" A pair of arms grabs me from behind, and I open my eyes and jerk away. The arms pull me, though, shocking me out of my frozen state and dragging me away from the sound of Tony's screams that still echo in the kitchen so recently filled with laughter.

The arms spin me once I'm out of earshot, and I see Sam's face looking into mine, covered in sweat and shock. He just looks at me, and I croak out the only words that come to mind. "How was your run?"

He sighs and closes his eyes, his hands still painfully gripping my biceps. I let out a shuddering breath, and Sam looks at me intensely. "What happened?"

I cringe away from his question, and feel my head whip to the side as he slaps me hard on the cheek. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on, Steve, what happened?"

A few tears drop quickly from my eyes, and I look up. "I just broke, Sam," I manage to whisper hoarsely, "I snapped, and now they hate me and they're going to kill me and they're going to kill Bucky and oh God-"

"Stop," Sam barks as I continue to verbalize my panic, "Stop that right now. What did you tell them?" I look at him with bleary eyes, confused by the harshness he's exhibiting, and see fear hidden poorly on his face. I small stream of tears drips down his chin, but he still looks at me with the attempted composure of a soldier. "What did you tell them, Steve?"

"I told them that Bucky's alive," I sniffle, "I told them that I love him, not Sharon. And he got so mad, Sam, he got so mad..."

I'm finally wracked by sobs that shake my entire body, and Sam pulls me into a firm embrace, letting me cry onto his shoulder. "It's okay," he soothes, "He's only mad because you lied. That's all, Steve, no one is going to hurt you or Bucky. He's safe, Bucky is safe."

Though I don't fully believe them, his words lower the volume of my sobbing. I slowly let it out, and eventually pull away from Sam with a shuddering breath. He looks slightly uncomfortable, but pats me on the shoulder nonetheless as I wipe my nose and face. I notice we're in my bedroom, and sit heavily on the edge of the bed.

Sam pulls out his phone, and dials a number before handing it to me. "I'll figure this shit out for you, man, but you gotta get yourself under control before we can solve anything." He leaves, and I look at the number he entered in. Feeling relieved tears blur my vision once again, I press the button to call and lift the device up to my ear shakily.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

I relax at the sound of the familiar voice. "It's me, baby."

"What's wrong, Stevie? Are you okay? Why are you crying?" God, he knows me well. Three words out of my mouth and he can gauge my emotional state without even looking at me.

"I fucked it all up," I whisper, "Bucky, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to tell them, I really didn't, I just got so mad-"

He cuts me off quickly. "No, honey. This would've happened eventually, and you know it. Take a deep breath, and listen to me. Okay?" I nod, although he can't see it, and do as he says. "Steve, you know that you have a team that will support you unconditionally. Everyone in your ragtag group of superheroes has kept secrets, has messed up, and has been forgiven. God, baby, I know the voices tell you otherwise, but what we have is okay. It isn't sinful, it isn't something to be ashamed of, it's fucking perfect."

I smile weakly and press the phone closer to my ear as he continues, "I know you, Steve Rogers, and I know that you can push past this fear. You have Sam and Natasha on your side for sure, and I guarantee you that the others will at least be willing to listen to you."

"Tony won't."

"Maybe not," he says calmly, "But when have you ever cared about what Tony thinks? I mean, Jesus, didn't you say you would shoot him if he tried to pull us apart again?"

"I think I said I would shiv him," I reply, chuckling. I hear his laugh on the other end of the line.

"In any case, Steve, you have the support of the people who matter most to you. And I'm pretty sure that everyone else will come around. You just gotta stay strong. Can you do that for me, Stevie?"

"I can do that." And remarkably, the words that leave my mouth are true.

I can almost hear his smile. "Thanks. I love you, Steve."

"I love you too."


	2. A Speech

Sam enters the room a few minutes after Bucky and I hang up. He looks a lot less stressed than before, which is a relief. He offers a rather tight smile when he sees me sitting silently on the end of the bed.

"So Pepper came and brought Tony off somewhere," he says, coming in and sitting beside me. I move over to give him some room. "She was hella pissed, man, you should've seen it. Angry Pepper is even scarier than you when you're mad."

I chuckle humorlessly. "You've never seen me angry, Sam. Irritated? Sure. But you've never seen me genuinely angry."

"Well damn, then, I don't want to," he says, continuing his update with ease, "But that doesn't matter. Tony is out of the way, and everybody else is waiting for you to tell 'em what's up."

I take a deep breath, and put on my Captain America face as I stand and walk into the hallway. Sam follows as I say, "Let's do this."

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

I force myself to confidently stride into the living space where everyone waits, and their eyes all stare at me as I silently sit on the lip of a fireplace that their seats all face. Sam plops down into an empty armchair next to me, and an incredibly awkward tension fills the soundless air as everyone waits for someone else to talk.

Natasha is the first one to do so. She sighs, and looks at me with her classic expression of irritation and pity. "Okay, so do you want us to ask questions, or were you preparing a speech when you disappeared just now, or what?"

She quirks a sly grin at that, and I can't keep from letting out a small chuckle and leaning back to rest against the brick fireplace. "I don't have a speech, unfortunately. Hate to say it, but I'm about as shocked as the rest of you."

I see Clint, who was previously lost in thought, shake his head and turn to me. "I guess I'll talk, if no one else wants to. There was a lot of things packed in that remarkably profane little tirade of yours-" he pauses to giggle, and press a palm to his forehead. "Look, Cap, nobody cares that you and Bucky are together. Honestly, half of us thought you were anyways. Speaking of which, Rhodes, you owe me twenty bucks." He points at the colonel, who closes his eyes in irritation.

"Not the time, Clint," he says with exhausted annoyance, but the archer simply crosses his arms and slumps back into the couch as a response.

I look at their faces, and I honestly don't see any judgement in any of them. Which is...God, is that relief? Do I honestly feel relieved right now? Jesus fucking Christ, it's a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Natasha must notice my relaxation, because some of the pity in her face is replaced with determination. "We are pissed that you lied, though," she says, calm but firm, "And the fact that you love the Sarge doesn't change the fact that he's a criminal."

"He's not a criminal," I say, stiffening, "He had no control over-"

"How many times do we have to have this argument, Steve?" she interrupts with a soft, sad voice, "I know, okay? I know, and I don't want him to suffer any more than you do, but he will never stop being on the run until you let him face justice."

"And what if 'justice' decides to put him in jail for crimes he didn't commit? What if justice thinks it's a good idea to punish him, just like HYDRA did? I can't let that happen, Nat, I can't."

Bruce sits up, interjecting in his timid fashion. "Look, Steve, we understand. Really. Most, if not all of us have been in love, and we know just how badly you need to protect him. But is keeping him on the run for the rest of his life protecting him? Or would giving him the best lawyers available to mankind and a fighting chance to win his trial be protecting him?"

"I refuse to let Bucky Barnes be taken away from me again. I can't let that happen. I'm sorry for lying to you. I'm sorry for making this difficult. But I won't let him go without a fight." My voice is resolute, final.

Clint sighs, exasperated, and removes his hand from his forehead, where it's been firmly planted. "Steve, we aren't asking you to let him-"

"And I'm not asking for your opinion. You think I'm going to let them put him in jail? Hold him until trial? He's been recovering incredibly, but who knows what prolonged separation from me and everything else that helps him regain and retain his memories would do to his mind? We could lose him again, he could revert back to the Soldier and then we wouldn't have James Barnes on trial, we would have a ruthless Russian assassin who is guaranteed to be incarcerated for the rest of his life."

"That's just one scenario, you don't actually think-"

"What about Tony?" I say, letting words tumble out of my mouth, "Do you really think he's going to be okay with all this? He may not have any personal vendetta against the Winter Soldier, but you saw what he was like a little while ago. If he doesn't outright oppose any action I take to clear Bucky's name, he certainly won't help. How do you plan on getting 'the best lawyers available to mankind' without his resources or connections? And in the unlikely event that Bucky actually wins his trial, where the hell would we put him? Would Stark allow him to settle down, have a normal life? I doubt it."

"Tony will come around," Natasha states, staring me dead in the eyes, "But you just have to give it time. try to talk to him, I'm sure he'll listen after he has some space to cool down. You said that Bucky's made a ton of progress, right? Tell that to Tony. Let him know that Bucky isn't a threat. You may have lost some trust between the two of you, but remember that he's a reasonable man. Once he's sure that no one is in danger, he'll calm down."

Though I'm not sold on the idea of sitting here and waiting for Tony to approve of the protection of the love of my life, the logical side of me recognizes the soundness of her argument. Tony is a good friend, and an essential part of the Avengers. I don't want us to have any bad blood between us, I really don't. Surely, he'll be able to see reason. He has to.


	3. A Hush

So, as far as I can tell, Tony isn't listening to reason.

I've been doing my best to support Steve. I mean, I love him, and I'd do anything for him, so of course I am. But it's hard to reassure Steve that everything's going to be all right when it truly seems like everything is going to shit.

I don't really understand what Tony's problem is. No, that's not true. He put his heart and his pride on the line to help Steve through my death, only to discover that I'm still kicking. And for someone with as big of an ego as Tony Stark, that's gotta be one hell of a slap in the face. But still, man, can't you just relax for a minute? Seriously.

Steve and I have been doing as well as we can, considering the situation. I mean, we're always in some sort of terrible situation, so it really isn't that different from the life we've led so far. I've found that being away from him is a lot easier when I'm busy, so I've been fanatically catching up on the things I missed spending time as a part-time Popsicle, full-time murder machine. While there are other things I'd prefer to be doing, Steve for example, it's a way to pass the time. The time that's been going slower than I'd like to admit ever since Stevie packed his bags and went off to Stark's Heterosexual Headquarters. I don't blame Steve for snapping, I'm sure I would've done the same thing put in his situation.

He broke up with Sharon a few days ago, that fateful day that my boy lost his shit. And while I was freaking out with him about the whole "massive secret revealed that could lead to catastrophic upheaval in our lives", I definitely celebrated the end of that relationship. Nothing against Ms. Carter, of course, I'm sure she's wonderful, but Steve Rogers' ass is mine.

You know, part of the insanity that is our lives is that every time shit like this happens, every time we get the rug pulled out from under our feet, there's always some beautiful little thing to celebrate. When Steve lost me, he crashed a plane. Both horrific events, but they led to us meeting when I was the Winter Soldier.

That kinda sucked, too. I mean, no one likes to stab their best friend, unless they're a psychopath. But because I attacked him when HYDRA still had me, he became hellbent on finding me, eventually leading to us hiding out in the safe house.

Which also sucked. But it led to our love. Which is the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to me.

So there's a lot of reasons why I should be cold, cynical. But I guess it's just hard to look at my life with a harsh eye when I've had so much good mixed in with the bad. And when horrific things inevitably happen, I'm ready for them. I face them, and keep my eye out for the good things. Because those are inevitable, too.

Now Stevie is mine, and only mine. No little blonde bitch to steal his kisses, force loving lies from his lips. Now, we don't have the weight of his involuntary infidelity making every kiss a little more bitter, every caress a little more cutting. There's no jealousy, no pacing around and trying to distract myself from the thought of him entering her, as she screams his name. No guilty looks and little lies that gently attack the secure bond between us. Just me and him.

And in the grand scheme of things, them breaking up is the most inconsequential thing imaginable. But to me? It's everything. Because I can't be there for the dramatic speeches, the desperate pleas for forgiveness. I'm stuck here, in this house, simply wondering what happens in the skyscraper where I know everything's going down. And it's torture, truly.

I have nothing but phone calls with Steve to inform me of what's going on, and even those are short and tense. He's scared, and he has a right to be. If we're being honest, here, I'm scared too. Which is why I am so unbelievably glad that the thoughts of him and Sharon don't eat away at me anymore.

It was bad enough in the weeks before this happened. With little to distract it, my mind decided that playing endless reruns of "The Steve and Sharon Show" was the best way to keep me entertained. And while I'm sure I'll still see episodes of it eventually, I'm ridiculously relieved that they decided to cancel that thing. Because it's a shitty show, poorly written and plot-less, and it makes me want to throw up. I can't imagine what these past few days would've been like if I was still watching it. I can't imagine what my arms and legs would look like if I was still watching it.

And so the day finds me, looking through the curtains barely cracked open to display a quiet cul-de-sac in the early hours of morning. After an unspeakable nightmare, my legs brought me here, after pouring a cup of yesterday's coffee microwaved in the tiny little appliance that still smells like popcorn.

I've always liked the mornings. There's something about them that calms me, a hush that hangs in the dewy air. I liked them a lot more when I started them with Steve's arms around me, but I suppose beggars can't be chosers. I sip my coffee with an impassive stare.

I'm going to see Steve today, for the first time in a few days. We've only talked on the phone, he's been so busy smoothing things over at the Tower. I consider wearing something nice, but realize that he'll probably cry all over it. Or maybe not, who knows. It's always hard to tell with my Steve.

I can hear his exhaustion every time he calls, in the tone of his voice barely translated through the tinny speakers of my phone. He's sick of explaining himself, of trying to justify a decision he feels without a doubt was the only one he could have made. And he wants to come home, though the desperation of his wish is barely contained in his words. He doesn't want to worry me, which I'm surprised he doesn't know is impossible. I can't help but worry about him.

I knock back the dregs of my coffee and give one last look to the silent road I call home. I'll see my Stevie soon. I'll see him soon, and everything will be all right. Because there's always good mixed in with the bad.


	4. A Laugh

I'm sitting on the couch, studying clothes from the 80's when I hear his car pull into the driveway. I jump up and race to the door, stepping back when I realize that it would be startling for him to open it and have me standing right there. The lock grates, and blue eyes meet as the wooden barrier between us swings open.

The moment he sees me, Steve wastes no time in dropping his suitcase and striding towards me, crashing our lips together as though it's been years instead of days. I close my eyes and melt into him, grab him tightly just to be sure he's really there as I involuntarily moan into his mouth. His hand threads through the roots of my hair, deepening the kiss that's become intense breathtakingly fast. 

A sweeter feeling replaces the intensity, our desperation relaxing into a gentle reacquaintance of lips. I smile into his mouth, and feel the warmth of his relieved sigh. The kiss breaks off, and I bury my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, as we rock slightly in a faithful embrace. For what feels like eternity, no words are necessary as we simply drink in each other's presence, overwhelmingly relieved to finally be able to comfort one another.

He pulls away, and his chiseled features gaze at me like I'm the moon on a summer night, his hand cupping my cheek. I crack a grin at him, and press another lingering kiss to his soft mouth. "Hi," I say quietly, the simple joy of him being here spilling out of my mouth in the simple, breathy word.

"Hi," he says back, the sunshine of my tone reflected in his.

++++++++++++++++

"So I don't think that Tony is going to forgive me," Steve says somberly.

Called it. "I'm sorry, baby. What does that mean for us?" He rolls his eyes, and I have to hold back a smirk bubbling up at the sight of his exasperation. It's just so fucking cute.

"Well, some more complications have arisen...namely Nick Fury. He, uh, wants to know where you are. I guess one of the Avengers mentioned your glorious resurrection to him, and he's kind of concerned, given the whole-"

"International war criminal thing?" He smirks at my dry tone.

"Exactly. It isn't really safe for me to be in the Tower anymore, and I don't really know who I can trust. It's hard to tell who's going to be more loyal to Fury than me, and there isn't really a definitive way to find out."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"How do you feel about Maine?"

My eyebrows furrow at the unexpected question. "Maine?"

He leans back on the couch we're currently resting on, and I shift along with him to stay close to him. "Well, it's not really to safe to stick around New York. You can bet your ass Tony will do everything he can to help Fury find you, and we're screwed if you're brought into custody before we've had a chance to make a plan. Maine is...unexpected. If we leave quick, stay undetected, we can at least buy some time to figure out what our next move is."

"Alright..." I say, thinking through all the implications of this action he's proposing we take. "That seems pretty logical. When do you want to leave?"

"Wait, you're not going to contradict me? Come up with another option?" Although his tone is joking, I spot some legitimate surprise in his eyes.

"Your plan makes sense, not much that I would want to contradict. Plus, I've gotten pretty used-" I cut myself off.

Steve looks at me with wary concern. "What is it, Buck?"

"I guess I've just gotten pretty used to taking orders," I say tightly, letting out an empty chuckle, "HYDRA didn't have much use for my opinions or contradictions." Steve's eyes fill with sympathy, and he lets go of my hand to pull me into a hug. I pull away quickly, though, and try to ignore the concern radiating off of him. "It's fine, though. Maine. Awesome. Let's see, they got lobster, lighthouses-"

"You know it's okay to talk about when you were the Winter Soldier, right?" Steve interrupts me.

I look at his intense blue eyes but glance away quickly, picking at a thread on the blanket draped over my lap as I reply, "Yeah, yeah I know."

"Bucky."

I sigh, and shift my entire body on the couch to face him. He straightens up as I start talking quietly. "I dunno, I guess it just feels like...I mean, I know you love me. And I know I love you. But sometimes it just feels like that part of me...like it exists outside of all that."

"Baby, I love every single part of you, g-"

"I know that. I know, it just...I want it to be done. I don't want to have those memories, I don't want to have nightmares every night, I don't want that part of me to exist. I don't want to worry about if I'm gonna turn into the Soldier again, I don't want to think about when I was the Soldier before. But I do, and it just eats at me, Steve, it..."

I trail off, and he takes both of my hands in his. "I wish I could tell you that I could fix this, darling, but the best I can do is promise that I will help you manage it."

"Yeah. Yeah, and that-I just want to-I don't know. I don't know Steve, I guess I just don't like talking about it. It's easier to pretend it doesn't exist." He squeezes my hand in response, and my lips wear the ghost of a sad smile.

"I get that. And while I honestly don't know if talking about it would be more healthy, I am happy to leave that subject alone. But know that if you need to get shit like this off your chest, if voicing the pain of what happened during that time would help you overcome it, I will always be here. No matter what you need, you know that you always have me."

I give a chaste kiss as a sign of my gratitude, and let out a dramatic sigh. "Dang, that got really deep really fast. What were we talking about? Maine? I'm fucking starving, tell me more while I make mac and cheese." He lets out a belly laugh, and lets me pull him off the couch and towards the kitchen.


	5. A Bedroom

"Dang!" I hear Bucky say as we pull up to the remote house on the rocky shore of the Atlantic Ocean. I giggle at his enthusiasm and stop the car, sitting with him for a moment as we gaze at the large building serving as our temporary home.

Just hours after Bucky enjoyed his mac and cheese, we hightailed it out of New York on a small plane piloted by yours truly. Although a road trip would have been fun, Sam and I figured that taking a plane would make it harder for people to find us. Bucky was more than happy to agree.

His optimism is contagious, and looking at his joyful face in the cockpit next to me helped me to realize just how empty life was before we were reunited. I've been so goddamn happy in these moments when it's just us, moments where I can finally let myself relax and enjoy the world around me. Bucky has helped me rediscover my appreciation of life, which is something I didn't even realize I had lost until he came back to me.

I pull our bags out of the trunk, and Bucky helps me carry them up to the front door of the house. It's much larger than we need, but I surmised that it's size would help keep us undetected. Even if the Avengers end up realizing we're in Maine, they'll most likely be searching small apartments and houses in urban areas. This reclusive mansion is the last place they would look. Hopefully.

I set down the bags in my hands to unlock the door, and get an unbearably cliche idea the moment I swing it open. I put a hand on Bucky's back, and he looks at me in confusion for only a moment before I put my other hand behind his knees and pull him into my arms. He yelps and drops his luggage as I carry him inside the house, the yelp turning into a laugh. I set him down once we're inside and look at him, slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, I had to," I defend myself, but he just rolls his eyes and gives me a swift kiss.

"I understand," he says, going back outside to grab the bags, "I had the exact same impulse. You just acted on it before I could."

I smile as we bring everything inside, and tour the old mansion we get to live in. I didn't get to see what the inside looked like when Sam and I picked it out, so I'm just as amazed as Bucky.

"Look at this thing!" he exclaims, opening the ancient oven in the kitchen, "I could fit like eighteen pies in here!" I laugh and open the cupboards, peering at the appliances and such that I will inevitably try to use, only to have Bucky slap my hand away and force me out of the kitchen. He spends a lot more time searching the kitchen, assessing everything. I can practically see his thoughts, imagining all the things he can cook for us.

We continue to explore, searching every dusty old room. It's old fashioned, certainly...but I don't think either of us have a problem with that. Honestly, the place feels like home. It's a little rough around the edges, but I'm sure a little renovation could make it just as stunning as it was originally intended to be. Buck and I make little comments to each other as we make our way through the vast number of rooms, but otherwise are lost in our own thoughts and imaginations.

When we get upstairs, we try to decide which bedroom to claim. "You want this one?" Bucky teases, pointing to a pastel nursery holding nothing but a bassinet and changing table, "It really seems to be your style..." I smack him gently and he laughs, taking my hand as we move on.

There's a lot more choices than we need, but we finally end up in a large suite, walls painted a warm brown. A bookcase, two worn armchairs nestled next to a small fireplace beside it. It feels homey, comfortable. I look at Bucky, and he nods. I move to look at the attached bathroom, but feel muscular arms snake their way around my waist, holding me back.

"I'm sorry, you really think you can just ignore this massive bed? When I'm here with you?" he rasps into my ear, pressing his body against the back of mine. I let out an involuntary shiver, and try turn to face him. His eyes are dark with lust, and they look like they're undressing me as he sends a firm stare up and down my body.

I smirk at him and turn again, walking away. He races in front of me, aroused outrage clear as daylight on his face. "Really, Rogers?" he says, pushing me towards the bed, "I can see that you're just as eager as I am to test this thing out." He gestures to my pants and to the bed, and I try to contain my anticipation to keep teasing him. I swallow down my smile and turn it into an indifferent mask, one he sees right through immediately.

"Well, if you really don't wanna..." He trails off and starts to walk away. Can't have that. I grab him in a similar way he did to me earlier, and can practically hear his grin as I start pressing kisses to his neck. "Alright then," he says, more strained as I begin to take off his shirt slowly, "Guess you are interested..."

And those are the last coherent words said for a while.

Once we're through, I hold his tired body in my own gently, rubbing a hand across the skin of his back lazily as he half-dozes on my chest. I hear him mumble something against my neck, but can't make out what he said. "What was that, baby?"

He pushes himself up, and looks at me. "You should paint the house."

"Do you not like the color?" I ask, confused. He rolls his eyes and rolls over to lie beside me on the bed.

"No, I mean you should paint it. The inside. Make flowers and things, whatever you want. Like you always wanted to when we were kids. Remember? You said that if you ever got your own house, you'd want to decorate it your way."

Though I'm happy he remembers that, it makes me a little sad. "I haven't painted in ages, Buck, I don't think I've even drawn something since the forties."

"Why not? I mean, you went to art school, Steve, you were great!"

"I dunno, it just...I just lost my inspiration, I guess. No motivation." I frown at the thought. I haven't really considered picking up art again since I got out of the ice, it just never felt right. He's right, though, it was always such a big part of my life...why did I give it up?

"Well, I think you should paint the house," he says, interrupting my thoughts, "If you want to practice a little bit before painting the walls, that's fine, but I'm gonna make an executive decision and say that getting that part of you back is important."

I turn to him, and smile weakly. "Okay, baby. If you say so. I guess I do miss it, and this place could use some decoration. Maybe I could put some plums in the kitchen, or I could make a design out of your pie recipe, like a banner that could go over the stove..."

He snuggles against my body as I start to ramble, a flood of ideas spilling out of my mouth and into the warm air.


	6. A Response

Waking up is the best part of my day.

No, that's not true. Or hey, maybe it is. The wonderful thing is that I have no idea what the best part of my day is because every part is the best part. Waking up is definitely good, though.

You see, I used to wake up in the middle of the night because of nightmares. And I still do sometimes, I get trapped in the Swiss Alps or a battlefield and startle awake, but the beautiful sight of a sleeping Bucky always makes it all better. And I can sleep again until I actually wake up.

I don't do my morning runs anymore. That was more a "me and Sam thing", and Sam is currently playing dumb in New York, pretending he has no clue where Bucky and I went when we disappeared. It doesn't feel right to go without him, so I don't. Instead, I sleep in, and get woken up by the rousing of my lover, or the sun streaming through a curtain covered window dancing on my face.

I used to wake up to the cold sweat of a nightmare or the harsh cries of an alarm clock. Now, I wake up to a kiss. Arms around me. Sunshine. So waking up is one of the best parts of my day.

Sometimes, Bucky will wake up before me to make breakfast. Today is one of those days, I think. When my eyes flutter open, my solitary state becomes keenly apparent. I pad down the creaking wooden stairs after throwing on a robe, and blink in the light of the kitchen as I spot Bucky, fully dressed, humming to himself as he flips pancakes.

"Morning, Stevie!" he chirps, setting down the spatula to come and hug me. I groan as a response, and he chuckles at my groggy state. Making sure to press a kiss to my cheek, he goes back to the stove to continue cooking. As I start to wake up a little more, I realize that I should probably help. I grab coffee and orange juice for both of us and make my way into the breakfast room.

The house has way too many rooms for its own good, but I like this one. It's small, bathing in the light of a stained glass window overlooking the east side of the house. A week ago, I started painting the house, just three days after we moved in. This room was the first to be decorated, the wall opposite the window delicately designed by yours truly. I made it so that each morning, the light from that window accentuates my painting, coloring spots I purposefully left blank. I study the sight as I set the table.

By the time Bucky's finished cooking, I've woken up enough to be a functional human being. Once I have my coffee, I'll be a functional Steve Rogers. I help Buck bring our plates into the breakfast room, and he touches my painting with a smile before sitting down.

"God, I love that wall," he says as we start to dig in, "You're just so fucking talented."

I roll my eyes, and take a massive bite from my stack of pancakes. "You're the one who's talented, Buck, these are delicious."

"Thanks, babe. Would you say that they're 'focking fantashtic', or is that going too far?"

I smile at him instead of rolling my eyes again. "Yes, Buck, they're-hold on-" I shove a huge bite of pancakes into my mouth, "Dey're focking fantashtic!"

He lets out a laugh, and the meal continues in much the same fashion. After we finish, as I'm doing the dishes, I feel a vibration in the pocket of my robe. "Hey, Buck, can you check my phone?" I call out to my lover, who's currently reading the comics section of the newspaper in the other room. He comes up next to me, and pulls the device out of my pocket. "Sorry, wet hands," I apologize, but he just shrugs and shakes his head as he lights up the screen.

"It's Sam," Bucky says, sitting down at the counter as I continue to wash the dishes, "He says that Tony's a lot less worried about us!"

I grin. "That's great, maybe we won't have to be in hiding anymore!"

Bucky's smile quickly turns into a frown. "Oh. He's not as worried about us because he and Bruce accidentally created a murder-bot that killed JARVIS and is currently on the loose."

"Ah, fuck."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Another good part of my day is whenever me and Bucky decide to go on a walk. The rocky shore our house is situated on offers breathtaking views of the ocean, and I love getting to go on walks and runs with him along the coast. Today's walk isn't as fun as usual, though.

"I mean, how fucking stupid are they? Why would they make something like this, use the scepter, an unknown technology that demolished New York, to create a sentient being?" I rant to Bucky, as we walk hand in hand across large boulders kissed by the cold ocean waters.

"It does seem pretty irresponsible," he muses, letting go of my hand to hop up onto a particularly large rock. I keep walking and help him down on the other side, taking his hand once more as we continue on.

"How bad do you think it's going to be?" I ask.

He thinks for a moment. "Well, I doubt that it'll be as bad as New York, but I also doubt they'll be able to get this under control without some destruction. Plus, they're missing a member of the team, so that could make it harder for them to take this Ultron thing down. I dunno, though, I don't really have enough information to make an educated guess."

I look at his expression. "You don't want to talk about this, do you?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Not really, no. I like things here, and it doesn't really seem to be our concern. I mean, even if we did show up to help, they might fight us instead of the robot."

"I don't know that they would go that far. I mean, some members of the team might be more loyal to Fury and Tony than to me, but I still think that they would be able to set their grievances aside to help others."

"I suppose."

We keep walking for a silent moment, but I'm still getting weird vibes off of Bucky. A moment of realization, and I speak. "I'm not going to go help them fight, you know that right?" I look at him intently, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my tone. "I would never risk you, risk us. I'm staying here, I promise."

He gives a little smile. "Okay, sorry. I guess I just got a little nervous that you were gonna run off."

"Never," I say, planting a kiss to our linked hands, "I've waited seventy years to get you back, baby, I ain't givin' you up for anything." He gives my hand a squeeze, and we carry on with less tension than before. Going on walks is one of the best parts of my day.


	7. A Call

Have I mentioned that this is the happiest I've ever been in my entire life? Because this is the happiest I've ever been in my entire life.

I get to be with Steve, and that miracle still astounds me. I will never stop appreciating the amazement that is him, every facet of him that I can't help but adore. Plus, having a bigger house to live in is fantastic when you're stuck in said house. Sure, I can leave to go on walks and stuff, but it's too risky to show our faces in public. Any pictures taken and posted of us could tip off the Avengers and Fury to our location.

I don't mind, though. Sure, having to stay hidden sucks, but I get to bunker down with the best goddamn person in the universe. Why wouldn't I be happy?

The only spot of gray in the endless blue sky of my life is the whole Ultron thing. Ever since we got the news yesterday, Steve has been really pissed. It makes me a little wary, because it's hard enough to have Tony be mad at Steve. I can't imagine that the problems in the pot will ever simmer down if their hatred is mutual.

There's also the Winter Soldier, I guess that's another dark spot. PTSD, that sucks. The WiFi is really shitty here, that's not great. Oh, and the fact that everyone in the entire fucking world hates my guts and wants me to rot in hell for the rest of my preferably short life, I suppose that counts as a gray cloud.

Yeah, okay, so things suck a little bit. But I'm still the happiest I've ever been. Which probably says a lot about the life I've led so far, but anyways. Life is good. I'm happy. I'll focus on the blue skies, because they're the first I've seen in a while.

Steve and I had some hella good sex this morning, so my day is off to a great start. We're ordering in Chinese food for lunch, another indication that today is going to be great. All in all, I'm feeling awesome, until Steve decides to get a phone call that kills my vibe.

"Hey, Sam, what's up?" he asks, standing up and starting to pace the living room. He always paces when he's on the phone, it's adorable. "Oh, shit, really?" he continues, never a good sign. I sit up on the couch and watch his face, moving to turn down the TV so I can hear what Sam is saying. Steve grabs the remote from my hand before I can do so, though, changing to a news channel. The sight of what's on TV makes my stomach drop.

"We are unsure of what made the Hulk rampage, but you can clearly see the results of his rage..." A news reporter is gesturing to a demolished Johannesburg, broken after Dr. Banner lost his cool. Steve hangs up the phone and watches with me in silence, as the reporter continues to inform the public of casualties and damages.

"Bruce must be devastated," Steve murmurs, and I see sympathy written on his face. I take his hand as he continues, "Sam said that Ultron recruited this pair of enhanced twins. The Maximoffs, boy and girl. The girl attacked the team, she has some sort of mind powers that made them all hallucinate stuff. Whatever she showed Bruce must have made him Hulk out..." He trails off, and we keep watching the news.

Yeah, so maybe today won't be as great as I thought it would be, after all.

Steve calls Sam a few more times over the course of the day, but the Falcon never picks up. At the end of the day, Sam finally sends a text.

Gay Friendly Bird-Man:  
Sry couldn't talk earlier everybody's pretty fucked up. At Clint's house rn I guess he has a secret family?? Thor zoomed off but the rest of us r just chillin here and recovering. She showed me riley dying again

I read the message along with Steve. "You should call him," I say, "Maybe he'll actually pick up this time." Steve nods and kisses my forehead, dialing his friend as he walks outside. I watch him go, then realize that I'm bored.

I've gotten used to having Steve around this past week and a half. Now, whenever he goes, I get lonely. Which is ridiculous, of course, but still. Even if he's just in the next room, it helps reassure me that he's here, that we're here, that things are different now. When he goes, it's easier to slip into seventy years of memory, all the time I spent alone. I'm sure this extreme dependency will fade with time, but right now, it's very real.

I decide to pull up the tab on my computer I've kept open for the past three weeks, the one I occasionally glance at but never really explore. Capella University. An online school, one that my thoughts have visited frequently but never built a home on. I just don't know if I'd be able to earn a degree, if it's even something I'd have the patience for. Besides, it's not like I'll be able to get a job to use one any time soon...

I don't know, though, the idea calls me. I liked learning back when I was in school, I liked going to science conventions and I liked reading. But after all these years, would I still have that same passion for education? Or will I only sadden myself by discovering yet another thing that the future has stolen from me? These questions have kept me from really looking into higher education.

But hey, I've probably got like an hour to kill while Steve's on the phone. And it can't hurt to at least see what this school has to offer, right? I'll just take a peek, see if any majors spark my interest, see if this is something I actually want to do. Just a quick look until Steve comes back.

Three hours later, I realize it's been three hours. I look up, and wince at the pain in my neck. Note to self, don't sit glued to a computer screen for hours at a time.

I stand up, and find Steve reading a book in the dining room. He smiles when my confused face sees his. "Hey, Buck! Sorry, you seemed really focused on whatever you were doing, so I didn't want to disturb you. You hungry for dinner?" My stomach growls my response, and he grins. "Great. I took the liberty of making you a sandwich, if that's good with you."

I beam at his kindness, and grab the aforementioned sandwich. "Thanks, Stevie. Sorry, I guess I just got a little sucked into what I was doing. How's Sam?"

"He's alright, considering. They're just trying to figure everything out. What, uh, what were you doing?" I can see that he intended to respect my privacy, but his curiosity overtook him.

"I was looking at online colleges, actually."

"Really?" The enthusiasm on his face validates the decision I had already made about my education. "That's great, Buck, what were you planning to study? If you want to study something?"

"Well, I saw this engineering program that seemed really interesting, I think that it would be a good way for me to get caught up on modern technology and stuff, plus it just seems really interesting. I don't know if I'd be able to sign up, just because of the whole criminal thing, but..."

"We'll find a way. You helped me get my passion back," he says, gesturing to the painting in progress on the wall of the room, "I will do everything I can to help you get yours."

I smile at him and grab his hand. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, love."


	8. A Night

"Bucky, I'm sorry."

"No, please. After everything we've been through, please don't do this."

"I love you-"

"No. No, Steve, you don't get to say that and pretend it makes this better."

"I have to. You know I do."

"That doesn't make this any easier."

"I'm sorry."

Steve looks at me with sorrow, and sets down the +4 card with no relish. "Uno."

"No!" I scream, sweeping my hand across the table and sending cards flying. Steve laughs uncontrollably, pointing a taunting finger in my direction as he doubles over, clutching his stomach. I continue my fictional tirade, complete with Troy Bolton head grabs and the like. But soon enough, there's nothing I can do but join him in laughter.

It's been difficult trying to distract Steve from the pile of shit his friends have dug themselves into, but over-dramatic card games are a very efficient way of keeping him to myself. That and anal sex, but I'm pretty sure that's already understood.

It's not that I don't want him to have friends, because obviously, I do. But I don't want him to drive himself crazy wishing he could help them when there's just no way that he can. Therein lies the need for over-dramatic card games.

It's nice to be silly again. To let that part of myself see the sun again. It's been a while, and I forgot how fun it is to just let loose, embrace the ridiculousness that everyone's brain creates. It's nice to have someone who I can embrace that with, someone with the same humor as me.

It takes me a few minutes to collect all the cards, as Steve blatantly refused to help. Which makes sense, seeing as I'm the one who coated the entire living room with them. 

"You done?" he calls from one of the studies. Okay, I'm gonna rant here for a second. There's barely a need for a study in a house at all, so why put three? I don't understand.

"Yeah, babe, just a minute!" I yell back, setting the cards in our board game cabinet. I bound up the stairs, and see him sitting at the old desktop computer that sits on the desk of one of the studies. "Whatcha lookin' at?" I ask, wrapping my arms around him and leaning against the back on his chair to better see the screen.

"Just seeing what other movies there are that we should watch," he says, and I look with him as he continues to scroll through an article titled: 110 Movies You Need to See in Your Lifetime. "You did say you wanted to have a movie night, right?"

"I didn't, but now I want to. There's a lot of Disney movies on this list, wanna watch one of those?"

"Why not."

And there time finds us twenty minutes later, with two absurdly large bowls of popcorn and a blanket shared by the both of us. Neither of us ever get cold much, but there's just something about being curled up in a blanket with someone you love. Steve gets up to turn off the lights, and snuggles into the crook of my arm when he gets back. I chuckle softly and pull him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

We only planned to watch one movie-Beauty and the Beast. We should have known that wouldn't happen, though, as our shared love for film always leads to days on end spent watching a screen. And so, after loving the tale as old as time, we figure that just one more can't hurt.

Lilo and Stitch. The sisterly love shared makes me tear up a little, remembering the younger siblings I used to care for in much the same way. My sadness passes, though, and we continue to enjoy the same movie just as much as the first one, if not more.

And, well, there's so many Disney movies! It really wouldn't be fair to only watch two. So when I see that there's one called Frozen, the irony is just too good to be true. Steve agrees, of course, and so we embark on a magical journey rife with spontaneous songs and unrepresented minorities.

By the time we're done with Frozen, it's been almost five hours. But when I see that there's a Frozen 2, it doesn't matter that it's one thirty in the morning. We can't not watch it!

I start to fall asleep around two, both because I don't like the movie and because it's two in the morning. I've become far too accustomed to going to sleep at a normal time, so my body can't really handle these accidental all-nighters anymore. I lean back and let the terrible lyrics lull me to sleep, only to have a sickening high note awaken me soon after. I feel Steve jolt, too, and we both laugh a little when we realize that we both fell asleep.

I'm more awake after that, and I think Steve is too. Hard to tell, though. The movie finally ends, and we watch the credits with a tired determination. My mind tells me I should probably go to bed, but it's just too comfortable here. Besides, I don't think I could stand up even if I wanted to. My legs feel about as functional as my amputated arm.

I don't remember falling asleep. My eyes flutter open, and I find myself fully laying on top of Steve, whose deep and even breath still reflects his repose. My body aches from the strange sleeping position, but I honestly don't mind. I'm content to watch his calm face, lit by the gentle morning light. I rest my head back into the crook of his neck, and doze again.

The next time I wake I feel hands running idly through my hair. I'm not sure if Steve means to wake me up or not, and I honestly don't care. It feels so goddamn nice, and I just melt into his touch, sighing in pleasure. I feel his lips press against the top of my head, and he shifts.

"Oh, shit," I mumble, realizing that I am, in fact, fully laying on top of him. He murmurs something back, too quiet for me to hear, as I roll off of him and onto the couch. He looks at me with sleepy eyes, and puts a hand back in the strands of my hair. I close my eyes again, and almost fall asleep again as I drink in the feeling.

He moves to get up, taking away his hand in the process. I stand with him, wincing at the aches in my body. "Gah, I feel like an old man this morning," I my strained voice says as I try to stretch out the cramps.

"I can fix that, if you'd like..." Steve says in response, voice coy.

I shake my head. "Nope, not sexy. I'm tired and sore, just wanna sleep."

"Fair enough," he smiles, and picks me up the same way he did when he carried me into this beautiful Maine mansion the day we arrived, "Let's get you to bed."

And if I fall asleep in his arms as he walks me to our bed, who's to judge?


	9. A Visitor

Look, I figured that there might be some problems associated with my departure from the Avengers, but I definitely didn't think they would be dropping a fucking city out of the sky.

That was two days ago. I've been feverishly painting the house when I'm not calling Sam. Or spending time with Bucky, obviously. But now that he started his class, he's been doing a lot of reading and whatnot related to the course. Which delights me. He's been telling me all about his college level reading that I don't understand a word of, but the look on his face negates any boredom. He glows. I'll take any amount of mathematical rants if it means I get to see that level of joy in the man I love.

I decide to cover the dining room with birds. I don't really know why. So far I've got a crow, an owl, and a parrot in progress. I'm touching up Pedro's beak when I hear the knock on the door.

Bucky looks up from his computer, and we share a look of confusion. As he stands up from the dining room table I start towards the door, looking through the peephole to see who on Earth would be at our door. Making a leap of faith once I see who it is, I undo the six locks and swing the door open, revealing Clint and a woman I don't recognize.

"Uh, hi?" I say slowly, unsure of why the fuck they're here. Clint gives a smile.

"Mind if we come in?"

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Clint introduces the woman with him as Wanda Maximoff. I greet her politely, and lead them into the dining room I was just painting. Catching the cordiality between the Hawk and I, Bucky grabs a few beers and a bag of Doritos from the kitchen and joins us at the kitchen. I give him an odd look, which he just shrugs off.

"So, Sam told us you're an Avenger now?" I say with a smile she weakly returns.

"Yes," she replies, looking down, "Clint recruited me and Piet-" The name of her deceased brother is choked in her throat, and Clint puts an arm around her.

With a look of sympathy, Bucky places a hand on the table. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ms. Maximoff. I can't imagine the pain you're in right now."

Both of our visitors look at him, Wanda with gratitude and Clint with appreciative curiosity. The latter chuckles to himself. "Wow, you guys really did manage to get the Soldier out of his head. I can see why Steve would move heaven and earth for you, Barnes."

Bucky quirks a grin and flushes a little, at a loss for words. I decide to ask the question burning on both of our minds. "So why are you two here?"

"Right," Clint clears his throat, "I'm sure Sam told you already, but Wanda here has an incredible amount of power. I asked her to use it to locate you lovebirds."

I try to contain my embarrassment and shift in my seat. "Why did you want to locate us, exactly? If you wanted to apprehend us, I would've guessed you'd be a little more prepared for a fight..."

"...unless they have backup that's surrounding us as we speak." Bucky says, completing my thought. Clint shakes his head furiously, however, using the hand not wrapped around Wanda's shoulders to wave away our concerns.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. Trust me, Cap, I'm with you on this one. You were raised in a time when loving a man was considered evil, when it would get you killed. I completely understand the decisions you've made, and I want to support you two in all of this."

I relax a bit, and Clint notices with a smile. "I just wanted to offer...well, I was wondering if you two would come stay in my place."

"No offense, but why would we do that?"

He grins, and grabs a handful of Doritos from the bag Bucky brought in. "Well, this spooky mansion seems pretty nice, but I'm guessing you two want some human interaction other than each other. I'm sure you'll start to get stir-crazy eventually, if you haven't already, and Laura and the kids are very able to keep secrets. Plus...I want to help. This is a shit situation, and I want to do my part in letting you two live your lives."

I nod, letting the idea sink in. I love this house, I love getting to walk along the coast and paint the walls however I like, but I can also recognize that this isn't a long term solution to our problems. A change of scenery might be nice...

I look at Bucky, who nods and looks at Clint. "Thank you, Mr. Barton. I think we'll take you up on that offer."

"It's Clint, please. And what was that telepathy shit, I thought Wanda was the only one who could do that!" Bucky lets out a laugh, and I feel his hand grab mine under the table. I give it a squeeze, and let myself smile. Okay, this is okay. Clint is offering us safety, because he supports us and this is okay.

Fag! Gonna go let Barnes fuck you in your little ass, Rogers? Gonna-?

No. Clint is accepting. This Wanda girl seems to be as well. I am not sick. I am not wrong. Because I'm with Bucky, and there's no way that the love we share can be wrong.

I bring my attention back to the conversation, having zoned out for a moment, and hear Clint talking. "...love stuff like that, I'm sure they'll be all over you. Not that you should feel pressured to spend time with them or anything-"

"No, I love kids, trust me. I was the oldest of four growing up, so spending time with kids reminds me of them. Plus, I'd love to do anything to help thank you for letting us stay there." Bucky gives another smile. It seems like these two are really getting along, which makes me happy. I always liked Clint, so I'm glad Bucky likes him to.

"Sorry to change the subject, but would the two of you like to stay here tonight? We have the room..." I interject.

"If it's no trouble," Wanda says in her thick accent, "It wouldn't make much sense to stay in a hotel."

Bucky finishes swallowing a mouthful of Doritos before answering, "Of course not, we'd love to have you. I was actually planning on making a nice meal tonight, anyways, so it'll be nice to have more people to appreciate my marvelous cooking. Here, I'll show you two upstairs so you can pick out your rooms."

I stay seated and let him lead them to the second floor, a smile playing on my lips. He was always such a people person, but that side of him hasn't really seen the light since he's been in hiding for all this time. I think that this move will be good, for everyone.


	10. A Morning

"Do we need to have a longer discussion about this?"

Bucky asks the question, as we quietly watch a show on the couch together. Wanda and Clint each claimed exhaustion, and went to their respective rooms for the night. I sip my hot chocolate and mull over Bucky's question.

"I don't think so..." I murmur, "But we can if you want to. Do you think it's a bad idea to move in with the Barton's? Because honestly, I don't have any problems with it."

"No, I don't either. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable, I kind of just agreed to it without explicitly asking you." He smiles and pecks my cheek before snuggling up closer to me. I continue to watch the TV idly, but my mind is elsewhere.

Domestic bliss isn't really something I thought I had earned. Why would I have? I'm a soldier, a Captain, one who has murdered and demanded and been traumatized for life. And although I think a part of me always knew that Bucky was the one for me, it never even occurred to me that my lingering glances and wide smiles were love, that I was even capable of experiencing that kind of emotion with a man. Never in a million years would I expect this love to be returned.

And yet here I am. Sitting on a couch, in the house that I've painted and made my own. With the man that I will never stop loving, the man who will never stop loving me. Watching some stupid show, sharing an embrace because we want to. And it's enough. And that's remarkably strange.

I've caused so much pain in my life, been the reason for hatred and war. Yet I get to be here, with him? It's almost surreal. And God, we're gonna go somewhere safer, somewhere with kids and friends and sunshine. Because I've earned the rights to these things, somehow. The world has decided that yes, I get trauma and heartbreak and uncertainty, but I also get Bucky. I get love, and a stupid show to watch for no reason, and sunshine on a farm. And despite it all, that's enough.

I don't need a war. I don't need to fight, to ready my shield and march onto a battlefield. Because somehow, for the first time in my life, I have enough. I can hold everything I'll ever need in my arms, kiss him goodnight and wake to his smiles in the morning. He's enough. This is enough. I'm enough. And it's strange.

I press my face into his hair, inhale his scent. I feel him put a hand on my thigh, and settle against me with a small sigh. A smile on my part, and we're back to watching the show. Back to silence. Back to the domestic bliss I never thought I had earned. The domestic bliss I will never, ever, get sick of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We had decided over dinner last night that we would leave around ten in the morning. So as the sun peeks her head over the cold waters of the ocean visible from my window, I wake up and rouse Bucky. He groans, and I grin before shaking him again to make sure he's up and hopping into the shower.

I'm pretty excited as I grab our bags and put them by the front door. I consider making breakfast for everyone, then realize Bucky would chop off my hands if I even suggested that I cook in his kitchen. So instead I make myself a bowl of cereal, and wait for the others to come downstairs.

Wanda is the first to join me, eyes slightly puffy. I give her a smile she meekly returns, and greet her cheerfully. "Morning, Wanda. How'd you sleep?"

"As well as can be expected," she says in her lovely accent, and sits across from me at the table.

"Can I get you anything to eat?" I ask softly, "Coffee, orange juice?"

"I'm all right, thank you."

We sit in silence for a moment, and I debate if I should bring up her brother or not. Before I can make a decision, however, I hear Clint's signature thuds as he begins his slow trek down the stairs. I stand up quickly, and get the pot of coffee I brewed just for him. By the time he reaches the lower lever, I'm waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. I hand his sleepy eyes and baggy clothes the pot, and he gives me a thumbs up as he starts drinking from it. I grin and go back to Wanda.

"Is he always like this in the morning?" Wanda inquires, and I give a small laugh.

"Yes," I reply, sitting across from her again and picking at the muffin I grabbed myself from the kitchen, "Always. It's ridiculous, really, it's like he doesn't even exist until he's consumed an entire pot of coffee."

The Scarlet Witch frowns at me. "Is that healthy?"

"No."

Bucky is the last to join our ragtag breakfast crew, hair still wet from the shower. He stops to give me a kiss on the cheek before getting a banana from the kitchen, then returning to the dining room to sit with Clint, Wanda, and I. "How'd everyone sleep? Beds comfortable enough?"

Wanda nods, while Clint simply grunts. Bucky smiles and peels his banana (from the bottom, because he's not a heathen), saying, "That's great. So when are you two planning to leave?"

"Whenever Clint's done with his coffee..." Wanda says, trailing off as the archer tips back the pot, chugging the remainder of the substantial amount of liquid left. He lets out a large burp and wipes his mouth once he's finished, and grins at his audience.

"So, now," he says, getting up to put the pot in the sink, "We took a private plane here, so I'm just gonna drop off Wanda at the Tower and fly over to the farm after. Again, you two are welcome to board-"

"We're good," I interrupt, "We'll see you in a day or two."

Clint shrugs, and smiles at Wanda. "You ready to go, girl?"

She nods, and stands to leave with him. "Thank you for your hospitality, I hope to see you again soon."

"Take care, Wanda," Bucky says, "Feel free to reach out if you ever need anything."

A few more goodbyes, and they're gone.

Bucky sighs and smiles at me. "You got your stuff packed, baby?"

"Yep, just gotta bring it all downstairs and pack it in the car."

Once everything is loaded into our vehicle, we go back in the house hand in hand and take a little tour. I say a silent goodbye to the birds in the dining room, and my breakfast room painting. Although I'm glad to have another place to go to, I will miss this house on the shore. Maybe once everything blows over, we can move here. Or at least have it as a vacation home or something.

I feel Bucky squeeze my hand gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. We go back outside, and I start the car with a roar. Though I feel a little sad, the sight of my love sitting next to me is a comfort. Pulling out of the driveway is a whole lot easier than I thought it would be.


	11. A Heartache

"Fuck yeah, this is my jam!" I yell as I hear the intro of a familiar song on the radio. We've only been in the car for about five minutes, but I'm already having a blast. I turn to Steve and sing soulfully along with the song. "You are my fire..."

"Jesus Christ," he rolls his eyes playfully as I continue.

"The one desire..." He stays silent and looking at the road, but I keep singing anyways. "Believe when I say, I want it that way."

He snorts but still refuses to join in, which only makes me sing louder. "But we are two worlds apart...can't reach to your heart..." At that I touch his chest, and he fights back a smile. "When you say..." I'm silently begging for him to join in as I continue, "I want it that way..."

"TELL ME WHY!" Steve screams, earning a fist pump from me as I play his backup singer.

"AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A HEARTACHE!"

"TELL ME WHY!"

"AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A MISTAKE, TELL ME WHY!"

"I NEVER WANNA HEAR YOU SAAAY..."

"I WANT IT THAT WAY!" We sing together, both with stupidly big grins on our face. "I don't know the rest of the words," Steve admits.

"Me neither," I laugh, and we simply dance in the car to the rest of the song, belting out the chorus whenever it comes along. I boo when the song ends, and Steve laughs, turning down the radio now emitting the soothing voice of a woman, naming the song we were just jamming to. I lean back in my seat, and let out a happy sigh. "I love you, Stevie."

"I love you too."

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

We talk about everything and nothing for the rest of the morning, occasionally turning up the radio when a song we know comes on. I roll down my window at one point, closing my eyes and inhaling the fresh Maine air. I'm happy. I'm really, really happy.

Around noon, Steve asks what I want for lunch. "Um, burgers, maybe?"

"Okay, looks like there's a Perkins up ahead. I'll get some there."

I frown and cock my head, wondering if I heard him right. "Perkins? You do realize they only sell breakfast, right?"

Steve looks at me in wonder, and grins as he drums his hands on the steering wheel. "Holy shit, how have I not told you this? They-okay, never mind, you'll see."

We get out of the car, and I have to admit-my curiosity is killing me. We pull on sunglasses and hats, and I bury my hands in my pockets to hide the metal one. We walk up to the cashier, a girl with frizzy brown hair. She smiles widely at us. "Hi, can I seat you or are you ordering to go?"

"To go," Steve says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. All cool, all normal, until he takes out a piece of Monopoly money and hands it to the cashier. "Two cheeseburger orders, please."

I'm ridiculously confused, even more so when the cashier takes the money. "Wow, I've never actually taken one of these orders before!" she says excitedly, "How'd you get the money? Are you friends with Captain America?" The fuck?

"In a way," Steve says with a smile, taking the receipt she gives him. We stand back to let others order, and I open my mouth to ask what the fuck is going on. He shakes his head, though, and mouths "Tell you later".

We wait in silence, as every time I try to ask a question Steve shuts it down. When our order is finally ready, another excited worker hands Steve a bag that smells suspiciously like cheeseburgers. "Have a nice day, sir!" the boy says, gawking at Steve along with every worker in the restaurant. Steve returns the sentiment and grabs my arm, pulling my dumbstruck body to the car.

I still don't believe that there's cheeseburgers in that bag until Steve opens it, revealing ten America themed 1/3 pounders. "What. The. Fuck?" I demand, as he pulls out the food with a shit-eating grin.

"It's a long story," he muses, starting the car and unwrapping one of his burgers.

"Well, bitch, you better fucking tell it!"

So he does.

As it turns out, the owner of all Perkins' restaurants was a HUGE Captain America fan. Like, huge. More of a fan than even Phil Coulson. So when this man, Mr. Arnold Richards, heard that his childhood hero was back in the flesh, he generally lost his shit.

Arnold begged to see Steve, did everything he could to meet the star-spangled man with a plan. He finally got his wish about three months after the battle of New York, when Steve decided it might be a nice self-esteem booster to meet someone who admired him so much. Plus, Fury was on Steve's ass to get this guy to stop calling.

So the two met, Rogers and Richards, and Steve realized quickly just how fanatic this guy was. And so, being the little shit that he is, Steve decided to use this to his favor. And so Captain America made a negotiation, a ridiculous request, just because he could. He decided that he wanted cheeseburgers from Perkins.

But the thing was, he didn't want cheeseburgers to become a menu item, no. He wanted to respect the integrity of this breakfast restaurant, and he wanted to be the only one who could get cheeseburgers from Perkins. And so they got some Monopoly money, and branded it with an inimitable mark that made these dollars unique.

So Steve could go to any Perkins, hand the cashier this money, and be given the cheeseburgers frozen in every single restaurant. He could also hand off the money to someone else, make them do his dirty work for him. All of this, just because Arnold Richards was a Captain America superfan and Steve Rogers is a little shit.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I say as we finish up our burgers, tossing my wrapper back into the bag.

"It's true!" Steve defends.

I roll my eyes. "I know, that's why it's so ridiculous. Why Monopoly money? Why cheeseburgers? What the fuck, Steve?"

"It was worth the look on your face," he laughs, making a right turn to get onto the highway, "Seriously, Buck, you looked so confused."

"Well, yeah! How could I not be confused when you used fucking Monopoly money to buy ten fucking cheeseburgers at fucking Perkins!"

"Language," I hear him mutter.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, and lean back. "You want me to take over the wheel at any point?"

He looks over at me and smiles. "You can drive tomorrow, darlin'."

"Fair enough."


	12. A Wheel

There's five things you need to know about Steve Rogers on a road trip.

The first thing is, he's not a great driver. Or, at least, he has a unique style of driving. Sometimes, he'll go ridiculously fast, almost like he's trying to pass every other car on the highway. But other times, going through random neighborhoods or even just farmland, he'll drive agonizingly slow. Which is kind of nice, actually, because part of the fun of a road trip is getting to see the most random sights on dusty back roads or on the side of an endless highway.

The second thing you need to know is that he sings. A lot. Personally, I love his voice, but it isn't great. He'll turn up the radio all the way and belt along, sounding more like a dying goose than Beyonce. Even if he doesn't know the words to a song, he'll make them up to continue following along with the singer. I think my favorite example of this was when he thought the second verse of Party in the USA started with "Sucking a glove and a maxi pad, everybody has a sacred cow!"

Third, he's touchy. He constantly has a hand on my knee, or shoulder, and demands to be given physical attention the entire time. Whether that's holding his hand or stroking his hair, he needs it. Which, again, is ridiculously endearing. He's never more like a cat than when he's stuck in front of a steering wheel for hours at a time.

The fourth thing is, he has serious problems with motels. I found this very shocking, given the poverty we grew up in. But the night we spent in some roadside shelter, he was disgusted. Of course, I have my ways of distracting him, but he still loathed the squeaky bed and stained walls. I'm not saying he's a snob, of course, but the fact that someone who's spent so much time in nasty living quarters hates motels so much is just astounding to me.

The last thing you need to know is that Steve Rogers has a very high metabolism. Of course, this isn't just specific to road trips, but it means that you need to store a shit ton of snacks so that he doesn't whine the entire time. We learned this very quickly on our road trip, and had to practically empty out a gas station to stay prepared for his hunger and mine.

All in all, Steve Rogers is a great person to go on a road trip with. So as we pull up to Clint's farm, I'm kind of sad that our little adventure is over. But then again, there's always more adventure to come.

As I slam the car door behind me, two children come racing out of the house towards Steve and I. Although slightly nervous, I can't help but grin as they barrel into me, giving my legs a hug. I stoop a little to return the hug, delighted by the simple affection. I look up at Steve, and see pure adoration in his eyes.

"Sorry!" I hear Clint yell from the porch of his house, jogging towards us, "They were really excited to hear you two were coming." He pries Lila off of my leg, as Cooper has already abandoned me to hop up into Steve's arms. "Was the drive alright?"

"It was great," Steve says with a wide grin, "Bucky's a pretty good road trip partner, gotta say, although he's a bit of a backseat driver."

I mock outrage at his words. "I'm sorry, Rogers, it's not my fault you learned how to drive from a fu-reaking snail!" I stop myself from swearing, remembering that there are children. I haven't been around kids in so long, I haven't had the need to filter my language.

"Glad to hear you two are still in a stable and loving relationship," Clint says as we start up towards the house, "Laura, they're here!" He calls once we've gone inside.

A woman with long brown hair and a kind face makes her way down the stairs, slightly awkwardly due to her clearly pregnant stomach. She offers a warm smile to Steve and I as Clint slings an arm around her. "Hey, guys, so nice to finally meet you! I'm Laura, Clint's told me so much about you two."

"It's great to meet you, too," Steve says, stepping forward a little to better greet her, "Although I can't say I've heard much about you, to be honest."

She laughs lightly. "Oh, well, that's mostly for safety reasons. I wouldn't trade being with Clint for the world, but he is a bit of an occupational hazard."

"That's putting it lightly," I joke, and both of the Bartons crack a smile. Little thuds come thundering towards us, and Cooper comes forth with a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

"I made you a picture," he says quietly, reaching up to offer the drawing. I take it, and my heart absolutely melts. Steve sets an arm around my waist and leans in to see the picture, a crayon illustration of the two of us holding hands.

"Thank you so much, Cooper!" I exude as the little boy rocks on his heels proudly, sheepishly hiding a grin and running underneath the arm of his father.

Clint ruffles his son's hair fondly, then pats him on the back. "Why don't you go play with your sister, bud. Okay?" Cooper nods and plods further into the house, leaving the adults alone. We move to sit on the sofa arrangement of their living room, and I lean against Steve as he keeps his arm around me.

"Coop's been having a real drawing kick," Laura says with pride, "Steve, weren't you an artist? I was wondering if you might want to show him a thing or two-only if you want to, of course."

Steve offers her a warm smile. "Of course, I'd love to. Buck would probably be able to lend a hand, though, I taught him a thing or two when I was in art school. Of course, he's nothing compared to me, but-" He's interrupted by me lightly slapping his stomach, and I cuddle against his chest as it vibrates in a chuckle.

"Thanks, Cap," Clint says, "It'll mean the world to him. I keep trying to get him to like Hawkeye, but for SOME reason he keeps saying Captain America is better. You should see the drawing of you he has taped up on his bedroom door, it's adorably horrible."

"I'll be sure to give it a look."

We talk for a while about small things, and I'm content to mostly sit and offer nods. I don't have a lot in common with these people, but that's alright. I'm sure we can find common ground as time goes on.

Laura ends up showing us to our room after a little while, all white curtains and blue bedspread. She leaves us to unpack, and I wait for a moment in the room filled with natural light, just breathing in the air. I feel warm arms wrap around me and close my eyes, inhaling Steve right along with the scent of the farm. We stay this way for a while, simply drinking in each other's presence along with the unfamiliarity of what could feel like a new home. Yes, I suppose there really is an adventure waiting at all times.


	13. A Message

Bucky and I have been staying at the Barton's farm for a week.

As promised, I gave Cooper his drawing lesson. And then two more. It was hard not to be charmed by the kid, he's got talent and a smile that could melt Tony Stark's heart. Bucky's been spending lots of time with both kids, playing with them and letting them drag him around. I forgot how great he is with kids, and it's like I'm falling in love with him all over again every time he hugs Lila or tickles Cooper.

Another nice thing is that Clint and Laura keep us busy. Bucky's been doing most of the cooking, and I've been cleaning a lot. We've also helped out Clint with his current house project, knocking out the dining room wall to open up the space more.

I've also got another project going, one that only Bucky and I know about. I bought five canvases, and a whole lot of paint. I figured we should probably give a gift to them for letting us stay here, so I started working on a portrait of each of the Barton's plus one of the whole family together. I'll probably come back and make another one for Nathaniel when he's born and I know what he looks like.

Their home is beautiful, and while I'm certainly a guest here, nothing more permanent, this lovely family has welcomed us with open arms. I know without a doubt that this was the right decision, and Bucky agrees.

Our extended time spent in hiding has definitely had some serious downsides, though. We've found very effective distractions from our uncertain situation, but whenever I start to think about it all the fear and sadness comes rushing back. I haven't seen Sam or Nat in weeks, and Sam is the only one of my friends that I've actually kept contact with, the only one I can truly trust. Bruce and Thor are AWOL, and I don't even know if I'll ever see them again. Or any of the Avengers, really. Who knows how this whole situation will pan out?

I miss them. I miss joking with Nat, running with Sam. I miss talking to Rhodey about the war and listening to Thor's insane stories. I miss Bruce's smile and Pepper's snark and although I hate to admit it, I miss Tony too. I mean, he's my friend. Or, was, before all of this shit happened. Will anything ever be the same? It's hard to imagine our friendship recovering from the damage it's endured.

It's easy to forget all of this when I have Bucky and the Bartons, sunshine and canvases and joy. But it lurks, preys on my idle mind and fills me with doubt. How the hell are we going to fix this? What the hell are we going to do?

I just wish that life was limited to paint and Bucky. I wish that I could keep the good and leave the bad in the dust forever. But my tumultuous past has guaranteed an unforgiving present and uncertain future, and my failures hold me back from the simple life I wish I could live. So the most I can do is fight as hard as I possibly can to keep the things I can't live without, and try to pretend I don't need the things lost in the process.

With all of these thoughts racing through my head, I start to feel lonely sitting solitary on the bed Bucky and I share. I pull out my phone and click on Sam's contact, realizing I haven't talked to him in a few days. I listen to it ring for what feels like forever, until a robotic female voice tells me to leave a message.

"Hey, Sam...sorry I haven't really talked to you the last couple of days. Things are pretty good here, just trying to stay busy. Any more news on your front? Have they found any leads on us? I guess you would've told me if they had...

"Look, I know this has been hard on you. You've done so much to help keep Bucky and I off the radar, and I want you to know that I'm truly grateful. This whole situation is my fault, and I'm really sorry that you were pushed into dealing with all my shit. I didn't mean for that to happen.

"Shit, I don't really know why I'm rambling so much. Just nervous, I guess. I mean, we still have no plan for a permanent solution, we still don't know if Tony will ever come around, it's trash. I keep wishing I could go back in time and solve this, but the funny thing is that even when it was just Bucky and me stuck in the house, we didn't know how to fix it. It feels fucking impossible, like there's no way to get out of the hole I've dug us into.

"Sorry. Sorry, I don't-I'll just hang up, I guess. Sorry, Sam." I press the red button and toss my phone onto the bed, running a hand across my forehead. Nice, Steve, good job working yourself up for no reason and burdening Sam with your problems. Nice fucking job.

God, I feel hopeless. And I shouldn't, because this is all my fucking fault. It's my fault, but I'm still sitting here feeling sorry for myself instead of doing something to fix this. But is there even a way to fix things? Or have I messed this up so bad that nothing will ever be the same?

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, and wipe it away angrily. Stop that, you don't deserve to feel shitty. You're not allowed to be sad about this, dammit, it's your fault!

I start to cave into my thoughts, as their nasty tone increases in volume. Why are you crying, idiot? This is your fault, all of it is your fault! You self entitled asshole, feeling sad about shit you should've prevented, I mean...Bucky. It's your fault he fell, it's your fault he became the Winter Soldier, it's YOUR FAULT! You have no right to joy, you have no right to distract yourself, when everything that haunts you is YOUR FUCKING FAULT! You-

"Steve?"

I lift my tearstained face, looking into Bucky's that shines with concern. "Stevie, baby, what's-shit, Steve." He rushes over and grabs my hands, which I now realize are gripping my...bloody?...arms. He pulls them away slightly, and I realize that my nails had been fully buried in my skin, which now is marred by ten small puncture wounds. Bucky wipes my tears and pulls me into an embrace that is tighter than usual as a result of his fear,

"-teve, honey, can you talk to me?" 

I realize that I had zoned off, and take a deep breath before answering. "Sorry," I say, frightened by how empty and monotone my voice sounds, "Just was...thinking..." I trail off and close my eyes, resting against his shoulder in a wave of sudden exhaustion.

"Thinking? What-baby, what were you thinking about?" Bucky lifts me off of him and looks at me with scared eyes. Nice, Steve, now you've got him worried for nothing, you fucking- "Steve? Steve?"

I open my eyes (when did I close them so tightly?) and look at him blearily. "Sorry. I just was thinking..." I try to articulate my thought process and feel hot tears spill from my eyes when I come to a loss for words. "I don't feel good, Bucky..." My voice breaks and he holds me tightly, stroking my hair as I begin to sob on his shoulder. 

When my tears slow into shuddering sighs, Bucky pulls me back once more to look at me. "Baby, I'm sorry, but can you please tell me what this is about? I can't help you if I don't know..."

"Can we talk about it later?" I sniffle, "I don't wanna...can we please just talk about it later?"

"Okay," he whispers, and simply holds me as we lay on the bed for the next hour or so. I miserably melt into his arms, until I drift into an uneasy but necessary sleep.


	14. A Solution

When I wake up, I feel heavy.

The misery that overtook me before my nap has faded into a dull ache, but it has seeped into my bones and made my entire body feel like it weighs a thousand pounds. I keep my eyes shut for a moment, not wanting to wake up and have to explain to Bucky how I got so worked up so quickly. It's so stupid, I shouldn't have h-

"Stevie? I know you're awake, baby."

Of course he does. I open my eyes and look blearily at Bucky, who appears to be much more awake than I am. I untangle myself from his arms and sit up on the bed, facing him as a serious silence settles between us. He looks at me with gentle concern.

"Can you tell me what all that was about? I just want to understand so that we can work together to keep it from happening again."

I rub a palm across my forehead and sigh, looking away from him in shame as I talk. "I just-it's so dumb. I just started thinking about how...how shitty this situation is. You know, I love the Bartons, and I love you, but it's just hard. It feels kinda hopeless..." I let out a forced chuckle and trail off, feeling Bucky take my hands as I continue.

"I'm scared," I say, deciding to stop ignoring my vulnerability and let it shine through my words, "I'm so fucking scared that they'll take you away from me, that I'll never see my friends again. I'm scared, Bucky, and it's so goddamn stupid because all of this is my fault. If I hadn't yelled at everyone back at the Tower and let them know you were alive, if I hadn't fought you when you were the Winter Soldier, if I hadn't let you fall of that train in the first place, if I hadn't let you become the Winter Soldier instead of jumping after you-"

"Stop," he says, voice compassionate but firm, "Stop that, Steve. You have done what you've had to. I understand why you feel like these things are on you, but they're just not. Jesus, baby, I had no idea you felt this way. We'll figure out a plan to fix this situation, but for now let's j-"

"But what if we don't? I mean, it's been so long, Bucky, and we still have no idea how to find a permanent solution! What if we never do, what if we stay on the run for-"

"Steve, we will find a solution. We will. If it will help you relax, we can ever start planning today, okay? We can do anything, baby, I will do anything to help you feel better. Okay? I just-I don't want you to hurt yourself."

He gestures to the healing nail marks on my arms, and I see fear and sadness in his eyes. I feel ashamed again, and try not to look at my skin. "Steve, you know that I understand the, uh, the thought process that leads to hurting yourself. So next time you feel yourself going down that path, I need you to talk to me. I know it's hard to reach out, but I can't-I can't bear the thought of you causing yourself pain."

"Okay," I mumble, "I will. It's just...hard."

Bucky rubs a hand on my cheek comfortingly and pulls me closer. "Are there any ways that we can make it easier? Any fail safes we can set up to keep something like this from happening again?"

"Um..." I start panicking a little at the question, unable to think of an answer.

Bucky notices this, and eases my anxiety with a soft voice, "Okay, hey, just a question, no pressure. Maybe once we have a better idea of how we're going to find a permanent solution to our problems, we can write it out and you can keep the paper? Remind yourself that there's a plan for whenever you start to feel anxious?"

"Yeah, that sounds like that could work. If we can get a plan, that is."

"We can, sweetheart, I promise you. Is there anything else you need to get off your chest? Anything else I can help you with?"

I smile at him and press a soft kiss to his mouth. "No. I...thank you. Thank you so much."

"You know I'm always here for you," Bucky says, pulling me into a warm embrace, "No matter what you need."

We stay in each others arms for a few minutes, just drinking in the intimacy of our love. I smile and nuzzle closer to him. Though I started out this conversation feeling unbelievably heavy, my heart now feels like it could just float away. It really is incredible how light Bucky can make me feel.

We decide to bake cookies for the Bartons after that. It feels appropriate. We refrain from having a food fight like usual, wanting to respect the Barton's house. However, I do manage to sneak some chocolate chips into Bucky's pants. I can't wait to see his reaction to them later.

Lila comes to help us when she realizes that her assistance will be rewarded by cookies, and Bucky lifts her into his arms so that she can stir the dough. Cooper comes padding into the kitchen when he hears his sister's giggles, and feasts on chocolate chips until Bucky cuts him off.

While we wait for the cookies to bake, Lila and Cooper show us a show they've been working on involving off key singing and clumsy dancing. We applaud them vigorously once they're done, and the children bow repeatedly as we praise them. This is interrupted by the beeping of the timer, and the kids rush to the oven to see the cookies.

Bucky tries to explain to Cooper why he can't eat the cookies right away, to no avail. Laura and Clint come in, and praise our baking abilities. Bucky assures them that their children were mainly responsible for the high quality of the treats.

Once the cookies have cooled, and we're all sitting around the kitchen table eating them, I let myself breathe. There is good in this situation. There is always good, it's just up to me to prioritize it over the bad.


	15. A Flood

Sometimes it's like I'm drowning in memories. Like I'm trapped under rubble, pinned as a flood of painful recollection slowly rises over my head.

It's better than not remembering anything, that's for sure. It's better than being the Winter Soldier, it's better than mindlessly attacking, but it's painful nonetheless.

I say it's like I'm drowning. I don't know what that's like, not really. HYDRA waterboarded me, messed around with the concept of drowning to torture me, but I've never truly drowned, been trapped under water with no hope of survival. Steve has. The plane crash, the fall of the helecarrier, the lake from our childhood. He has drowned, been pinned as water overtakes him. I haven't, but sometimes my memories imitate the feeling.

It's a bittersweet pain. Because I've spent so much of my life stoic and callous, constantly feeling like I'm missing something that I can never recall, the days when my head splits open with the agony of remembering make me want to hurt. I want to remember, want to feel, want to experience that agony. Because it's a reminder that I'm human, that I'm alive, that there is hope for a full recovery.

Today, I feel like I'm drowning. I sit up to a headache, startled awake in the early hours of morning by a horrific recollection of the death of a child. A death I caused. And although I know I can tell Steve, let him know that the water is rising above my head, I don't.

I've never drowned. I've never felt true hopelessness as a result of an extended period of time without air. Steve has. The little girl I murdered has too. I turn to wake him and get the comfort I need, but I don't. Because although my head screams at me and tells me you can drown on more than water, I can still feel the hair of that little girl clenched in my hands, see her stop struggling as her soaking body slumps down against the cold bowl of the toilet. I am not drowning. So I struggle alone.

I lay there for a while, as my head pounds. I look out to see a full moon beaming at me through the window, and watch it slowly fall to the ground and be replaced by the rosy ascension of morning. I feel Steve begin to shift awake, but I do not turn my gaze from the bright sunrise. I'm trapped, helpless as a tide overtakes me. I don't deserve to see the beauty of his face in the morning.

"Hey, Buck," Steve grumbles as he stretches, pulling me into a clumsy embrace. I don't respond, but his sleepy brain takes nothing of it. I don't turn to face him, but his trip to the bathroom distracts him from my motionless state. I don't get out of the bed all morning, but his false assumptions don't think I'm doing anything more than lazing my way through a mundane day.

It's like I'm drowning. I spend the morning in agony, a statue perched on a bed. My head forces its way through countless horrors, making me relive actions I had shoved far in the back of my mind. It's like I'm drowning, but for once I don't relish in the feeling. Because I do not want to remember the things I do.

A young man, stabbed sixteen times in an alley. Duct tape over his mouth, muffling the desperate screams of pain that tear their way out of his throat. Tears dripping down a red face that slowly fades into the mask of a corpse.

A mother and son, thrown off a building. Neither one guilty, simply witnesses to

A businessman, shot point blank in the chest. Terror in his eyes as he silently begs his wife and child to run before the scary man on the roof kills them too. Which he does. Because the scary man on the roof is not a man at all, he's a monster. A machine that takes lives without remorse, a robot that will one day sit on a bed for hours, drowning for forever as his mind pours memory upon memory over his head to slowly make the water rise above his mouth, his nose, his eyes, until he's nothing but a corpse floating in a sea of corpses, a broken man who can do nothing but choke on the reminders of everything he's broken, a killer who can only pretend to be a lover, a hateful husk that simply takes and takes no matter how hard he tries to give, a destructive force that can never be Steve's everything, his pal, his buddy, his-

"Bucky?"

I tear myself from my thoughts and offer a weak smile to the angel leaning against the doorway. That smile falters a little when I realize how often this happens. How often we tear each other away from hateful thoughts with the simple call of a name. How broken we are, how dependent on this desperate love to save each other from demons that tear us apart when we're apart.

"Yes, Steve?"

I put my mask back on, hoping beyond hope that it's enough to hide my suffocation from him. And by God, it is. He gives a gentle smile, and plops on the bed to offer up mundane conversation that I haven't earned. "What do you want for lunch, babe? Clint's grilling, so pretty much anything in the hamburger-hot dog-chicken family."

"Um, I'll take a burger, I think. Cheeseburger, actually. What are you having?"

"Grilled cheese."

I hum my acknowledgement of his words, and pray that he leaves so I'm not forced to burden him with my problems. He leans forward instead of walking away, however, and I meet him halfway to be enveloped in a warm kiss.

His lips are a begrudging comfort, and I internally sigh against them. When Steve pulls away, I look into his trusting face with my best imitation of joy. He smiles and kisses me again, resting a hand on my cheek to further intimate the loving exchange. And once more I have to stop myself from calling out for help, simply because I know that he'll give it.

I will never, ever, lose the memory of Steve sitting on this very bed with his fingernails buried in his arms. I will never forget the terror I felt as I saw his empty eyes fill with tears. It's only been a few days since that incident, but I know that no amount of brainwashing would ever get me to forget the pain my baby was in.

I cannot cause him more. Even if I die under the tides of memory, lost to the waves, I will not call for a lifeboat. I just can't. Because although his warm lips and trusting smile are a seductive invitation to tell him that I'm drowning, I can't see those eyes cry again. I can't cause any more pain than I already have.

Some days it's like I'm drowning. Some days, my head screams and my heart sobs. But there will never come a day when I will willingly cause Steve Rogers pain. There will never come a day when he hurts because of me. So instead of dragging him underneath the rising waters with me, I'll press my undead lips to his and pray he doesn't feel the chill the waves have wrought.


	16. A Groan

I told Steve that I would help him make a plan to fix our current "indefinitely on the run" situation.

I haven't.

The thing is, it's so incredibly complicated. There's no way to reunite with the Avengers, because we don't know how many of them are helping Ross and Tony hunt us. There's no way to talk to Tony, because he'll be more focused on bringing us to justice than hearing what we have to say. I wish more than anything that I could offer Steve the security of a simple solution, but there isn't one. There may never be.

I still haven't talked to him about my flood of memories from yesterday. I don't plan on bringing it up. He's stressed, and I don't want to add onto that. Although some long phone calls with Sam have helped thwart him from more destructive thought processes, I can still see the perpetual panic lying in his eyes. While I know that he'd help me without hesitation, I don't want to add to that fear by bringing up a problem I already solved on my own.

He's currently painting, while I watch on in gentle fascination. His face is so intent on the canvas, beautifully concentrated on the art blossoming from his careful brush strokes. I always love to watch him make his masterpieces, see his overthinking and anxiety melt away as he stunningly recreates whatever his mind can cook up. I stand with a smile, and quietly make my way downstairs to grab a glass of water.

Clint and Laura are by the door, wrangling their children into shoes and socks. "Where are you all headed?" I ask, halting my progress to the kitchen to talk to the Barton clan.

"I've got a doctors appointment for little Nate, here," Laura says, rubbing her very pregnant stomach as she responds, "And these rascals are coming with. We're going to run some errands and go out for lunch after."

"Which means that you and Cap will have the house to yourself for a while," Clint says, winking. Laura elbows him with reproach as he grins, hiding his lewd hand gestures from his kids. Although, they're probably too young to understand their dad's sexual references, anyways.

I roll my eyes at him but let out a smile nonetheless. "Well, I hope you guys have fun."

"You too," Clint says with a mischievous look. He opens his mouth to let out some sort of innuendo, but his wife clamps a hand over it before he can let it loose.

"Goodbye, Bucky, we'll be back around dinnertime," Laura says, rolling her eyes and herding her family out the door, "Lock up behind us, will you?"

I nod my assent as they leave. Once the door is securely closed, I decide that my glass of water can wait. I walk back upstairs instead, leaning against the door frame of a room Steve is still painting in. "Hey, baby, mind helping me with something?" I say in a low voice, one that immediately causes him to look up.

"Of course," he says with a smirk, setting down his brush, "But only if you need help with what I think you do." He walks up to me slowly, and places his lips agonizingly close to mine without touching them. "I'm assuming we've got the house to ourselves?" I simply bite my lip in response, and he closes the distance between us without further hesitation.

The kiss is deep, slow, and I feel his arms snake around my waist as I rest mine around his neck. His grip on me slowly constricts as our mouths move together with grace, tongues elegantly dancing with an unhurried ease. His hands lock on my hips, and I can't help but let out a gasp as the strength of his caress arouses me.

My gasp seems to excite him, and our smooth kiss begins to escalate, the gracefulness yielding to passion. Steve presses me against the door frame, and I hear him moan as the stiff reminders of our excitement press together in a delightful sensation.

I dig my hands into his back, and pry my lips away from his to press open mouthed kisses to his neck. I feel his hands rush to pull the shirt off my back, and I take mine away from his body to aid in the removal. After the fabric has been thrown to the side, I grab the buckle of his belt and begin to undo it, feeling Steve's erratic breath hot on my skin.

Once I've pulled the denim from his legs to reveal his muscular lower half, I shove Steve away from me and towards the bed. After swiftly pulling off his shirt, he attacks my mouth in a passionate frenzy, hands groping my bottom with a strong grip. I kiss him harder as I hastily remove my pants, his hands helping me as I kick them off. I feel a hand palm my aching member, and moan loudly into his mouth. His fingers reach into the waistband of my boxers, stroking the sensitive skin there in a gentle tease before peeling them off of me. I do the same to him, and begin leaving a trail of hickeys down his chest as I meander my way down to the part of him most demanding my attention. I gently nip at a tendon, and feel my member twitch as the cry he involuntarily lets out turns me on even more.

Though it must practically kill him, Steve pulls my head away from his pelvic area and sits up, digging his hands into my lower back as he rasps into my ear, "I hope you don't think you're gonna make me cum from anything other than your dick in my ass." I smirk at the words and press my body against his, pulling him tight as our mouths meet in an open mouthed kiss.

"As you wish, darlin'" I purr as I reach for the bottle of lube in the drawer of the bedside table, snapping it open. Steve grabs it from my hands and begins coating my member with the substance, his methodical stroking pulling a groan from my throat. I snatch back the bottle quickly, and coat my finger in the substance.

I hesitate for a moment, unable to start preparing Steve while he's touching me like that, but let out a shuddering breath and begin once he takes his hand off of me. I press a finger into his hole, and hear him take in a sharp breath at the feeling. I hold him closer as I pull the finger in and out for a while, until I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder. "More," he breathes, and I oblige, pushing another finger into him. I feel his quick exhale on my neck as I continue to slide the lubricated fingers, and add another once he's given the request. Soon his puckered hole is ready, begging to be filled by more than just my hand.

I pull out my fingers, and hear him whine at the loss of pressure. I hoist Steve's legs up, and bite my lip before carefully angling the head towards him. I lower into him slowly, watching his scrunched face for any signs of pain or discomfort. I feel my hips rest against his and feel desperate to move, but wait for him to tell me he's ready. I linger in agony until he finally gasps out, "Move, dammit, move,"

I obey with glee, begin with slow motion. I feel his face burrow into my neck and bite down, prompting me to thrust in and out faster. The sensation makes my breath come quickly, and I hear him cry out as I hit his prostate. "Fuck, baby, right there," he groans as I try to angle myself towards the spot again, moaning as the tight feeling of his body alleves my aching hardness. I hit his spot again and again, and marvel at Steve's pinched face as he he throws his head back. I moan more, a background noise to his mindless chants of, "There, Jesus, Bucky, right there-"

I feel my climax approaching just as he reaches his. The hot spurt of his release and the loud cry he lets out pushes me over the edge, and I continue to pound into him as I ride out my orgasm. I empty myself into him, and feel my muscles begin to relax as I slow with a shuddering breath, finally coming to a stop as I rest against his hot and sticky skin.

I feel Steve's rasping breaths whistle past my ears, and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. I pull out of him gently, and hear him whine a little as he loses the feeling of me inside him. He lies down on the bed, and I get up to grab a wet washcloth. Steve takes it from me once I return, cleaning us off with gentle wipes. I collapse onto his chest once the sticky whiteness has been cleaned off, and he lazily snakes an arm around me as I close my eyes.

"I love you so fucking much, baby," Steve murmurs, "So, so much."

"I love you too," I respond, running a hand through his mussed up hair and kissing the side of his mouth. I feel his lips quirk into a tired smile, and I can't help but kiss him again.


	17. A Fool

Bucky Barnes has a massive dick.

Blunt, I know, but bear with me. The thing is huge, and one of my least favorite things about staying with the Bartons is that I can't enjoy it nearly as much as I did when we lived in Maine.

You see, I don't want to wake up small children in the night with any noises. And I definitely don't want to hear Clint's comments about my sex life. So we have to wait until the house is empty to make love, which doesn't happen often and doesn't leave nearly as much time as I'd like.

Laura's doctor's appointment went well, and there's only one more month until little Nathaniel is due to join the world. Clint makes minimal innuendos about what Bucky and I did while they were gone, mostly due to the fact that I interrogate his children to keep him quiet. I'm tired, but happy, and continue to be content until a knock at the door sends me into panic mode.

Hawkeye scampers to the front of the house, but relaxes when he sees Wanda standing at his step. I don't join him in his relief, noticing the tension in her face. Wanda and I have gotten pretty close ever since I met her. I understand loss, and can relate to her struggles with newfound superpowers and the responsibilities that come with them. Her face holds a lot more sorrow than usual, and I cross my arms in anxious anticipation of what news she has brought.

"Wanda, honey, good to see you!" Laura calls from the couch she's lounging on, and Lila pulls her mother's arm away to run up and hug the Scarlet Witch. Wanda gently returns the affection, but still looks troubled.

Clint throws an arm around her and leads her into the house, talking with a huge grin on his face. "Hey, Red, what brings you here? You should've called, we could've gone out for dinner or something-"

"I texted Steve," she says, not returning his smile that quickly morphs into a mischievous smirk.

"Well," Clint drawls, "That would make sense. I doubt Cap was checking his phone while-"

Bucky clears his throat. "So, just stopping by or what?"

Wanda looks down, and I see a hint of anger join the collage of guilt and grief on her face. "No, actually. In fact, you might want to send the kids upstairs for a while."

◯◯◯◯◯◯

"It seemed like a normal mission. We were in Lagos, hunting down some man named Crossbones. He actually turned out to be..." Wanda hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to Bucky before she continues, "He turned out to be Rumlow. Things were going as planned, but then Rumlow said something to Nat that made her hesitate. He had set off a bomb..."

Wanda shakes her head and looks down. I take her hand and squeeze it encouragingly, silently asking her to continue. "I tried to contain the blast, but I accidentally threw it into a building. I killed so many innocent people, I-" Her face scrunches up in pain as her voice breaks and stops. I pull her into a hug, and the scent of her perfume wafts into my nose as her delicate form curls into the comfort of my arms.

"It's not your fault," Clint soothes, "You had no idea that would happen. I'm so sorry, honey, but why didn't you call? You know that everyone in this house would've been more than happy to make you feel better."

She pushes away from me, and I see a whisper of the anger in her face return. "Not everyone is as understanding as you. Only a day after Lagos, Tony Stark called a meeting. With Ross. They've been working on a horrific piece of legislation ever since Steve and Bucky disappeared, one they've named the Sokovian Accords."

"The Sokovian Accords?" Bucky furrows his brow in confusion.

"They make it so that none of us have any rights, that we can't go anywhere or do anything without the consent of the UN. I didn't read all of it, but what I saw was not constitutional in the slightest. The worst part is, Rhodes and Tony signed right away, without any hesitation. They're only giving us a few days to decide whether we'll sign too."

My blood boils a the idea of the Accords. All I can think about is my early days as Captain America. When I was nothing more than a puppet for my superiors to dance around on a string. They made me make a fool of myself onstage, and kept me from doing actual important things, like save Bucky and the rest of the 107th. How is life under the jurisdiction of the Sokovian Accords any different?

I don't think it can get any worse, until Wanda keeps talking. "I had to break out of the Compound to come here. I couldn't call, because Tony has ears in my cell. The only reason I could text Steve was because I have a separate, untraceable phone for him."

"Why the fuck is Stark keeping you prisoner?" I seethe, making Bucky place a calming hand on my arm.

Wanda rubs a hand across her face. "Evidently, I am a danger to the public. Well, Tony says it's to keep me from making the situation worse. Either way, it's wrong in my book. I have spent enough time on the wrong side of a war to know my own morals. I can handle the responsibility of making my own choices. I understand why Tony is doing what he's doing, but I still can't believe that he has so readily accepted the Accords."

"So what now?" Laura asks, "How will this affect Steve and Bucky, how will it affect Clint? I mean, he's retired, so will they still control him too? And is Ross going to send the Avengers after these two once everyone signs?"

"I don't know," Wanda sighs, "Part of why I detest this situation is because all these massive decisions have been made on such short notice. The Accords is a huge piece of legislature, and I wouldn't even have time to read and understand it before being forced to sign it. It takes away all our rights, and gives us no say in the matter. I know that I am different, but I never thought that gaining these powers and joining this team would make me into a pawn."

"We'll fight this," I promise her, "I'll fight this. Trust me, Red, I refuse to let the Accords be passed. There's no way in hell I'm losing the little freedom I have left."


	18. A Knock

A knock at the door.

The five people at the table look up in alarm, as there is no one else that would visit the Barton farm in casual camaraderie. Wanda stands up and walks slowly to the door, while Laura rushes upstairs to the kids and Clint grabs a bow from who knows where. I debate going upstairs to grab my shield, but pick up a kitchen knife instead. I see Bucky get into a defensive position out of the corner of my eye as Wanda opens the door.

Natasha stands behind it, her unreadable face holding no humor. She steps inside without a word, and smirks at our tense preparations for an altercation. "Really, guys? I thought we were friends."

"We are," Clint says warily, "Depending on what you plan to do here."

Nat leans back against a wall and allows her sharp green gaze graze over us. "I just want to talk, Scouts honor." Her cocky exterior cracks a little when she sees Bucky standing beside me. "Hey, Steve."

"Hey," I return, without relaxing.

Clint looks around the room and then clears his throat. "Okay, guys, cool. So do we want to sit down or just stand here?" Wanda sits on the armchair she was already in front of, and everyone else moves to join her in the living room. Clint hops up the stairs to inform Laura of the situation, and helps her down when she insists to join. Once everyone is settled, Natasha starts talking.

"I guess I'll start us off by saying that you guys need to stop being idiots and sign the fucking Accords."

I open my mouth to interject, but Natasha's fiery gaze chokes the words in my throat. "Nope, Rogers, no interrupting me. Let me talk. You need to sign the Accords. Tony is being an overreacting whore right now, but that doesn't mean that he can't see reason. He will call off the manhunt for you two eventually, once he messes up bad enough to realize that he's doing something wrong. Until then, it's okay if you lie low. But when he does come to his senses, you need to sign."

"I can't do that, Nat." My voice is measured, calm.

"Yes, you can," she says, just as respectful as I am, "And you will. Look, you've only heard Wanda's side of things. And Wanda, while you are intelligent and capable of making sound decisions, I think you overreacted to the Accords. Which makes sense, Ross definitely targeted you in that stupid presentation.

"Saving people is our job. And we can still do it, in a way that everyone can agree with. I'm sorry that you all don't agree with the Accords, but there isn't really a way around them. You have to sign. And it will be okay when you do."

My irritation grows with every word she says. I love Natasha, and I wish we could be on the same side here, but there's no way in hell I'm signing away my basic human rights. I can't. "Natasha, I'm sorry, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we're not signing anything without a fight."

Tired disappointment floods her voice as she responds, "That means that there has to be one, then." Natasha stands, and sidles her way to the door. She opens it, and looks enigmatically at Bucky and I. "I won't tell Tony that you're here, boys. Wanda, you're safe too. I'll keep your secrets, but I really hope you come to the right side and sign. Especially you, Wanda, Vision and Tony will tear the world apart looking for you. Just...please make good choices, you guys."

And with that, she's gone.

We look at each other, struck by her words but unshakable in our morals. We will not sign. We will not give in. And that will have massive consequences.

Clint and Laura go upstairs to comfort their kids, and Bucky takes me into his arms once they're gone. "I'm sick of this," I murmur, "I wish it could just be easy."

"Me too, baby, but once all this is over we can rest. And there's nothing sweeter than the respite that comes after hard times. We will get through this, and once we do, everything will be so much better than it was had we not endured it all." Bucky's voice is a soft comfort against my ear, as I drink in his warmth and his words.

"Do you really think there'll be a fight?" I whisper, not needing to speak louder seeing as our faces are so close together.

Bucky hums and thinks for a moment, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes. "Mmm...maybe. I don't know. What I do know is that whatever happens, we will be okay."

I snort and lightly slap his leg, turning around and practically straddling his lap to face him. His eyes open at my movement, and I look into their stormy blue beauty as I speak. "Cut the therapist bullshit, James, what do you think is going to happen? I can take your opinions, babe, I'm not some fragile glass thing you can break with troubling thoughts.

"Well, in that case," he drawls, "I think that there will be a fight. And it'll be messy, and bonds will be broken, and things will be a hell of a lot different than they are now, but we'll get the closure that we need. We'll get an answer to that time honored question, 'What the fuck are we going to do now?' You want my opinion, there it is."

I mull over his words. "A bit pessimistic, don't you think?" He simply shrugs in response.

"Sure, it's pessimistic, but it's life. And honestly, I'm tired of being a sitting duck. At least after all of this pans out we'll know what happens, we'll be able to move on. Maybe, we can get the permanent solution we've been looking for." I nod, and he sighs with a smile. "Gah, things have been so serious lately. I really wish we could just have a nice fucking day once in a while, one that doesn't have constant horror looming over it."

"We're working with what we got."

"I guess. Glad I get to experience a series of horrific shitstorms with you, though!" He smiles widely, and I giggle at the innocence on his face. "You look like a little kid, Bucky."

He boops my nose at that. As in, he fucking boops my nose at that. As in, he touches his finger to my nose and says "Boop!" at that.

"Okay, if we're being childish..." I say, interrupting my own sentence by tickling him mercilessly. He yelps and laughs loudly, eventually putting us both in tears with cheeks sore from grinning. The joy is worth the sassy comments from Clint that come later. It always is.


	19. A Betrayal

I don't want to fight any more. I'm really, really tired of fighting.

I know that all this violence is necessary. I'm fighting for my ability to choose not to fight. But that doesn't mean that I like it, that doesn't mean that every punch and gunshot I throw around doesn't remind me of the ones from those years when I had even less freedom than I do now.

I consider myself to be at least slightly pacifistic. I have never seen inflicting pain as good, even if it's to achieve a necessary goal. The day Uncle Sam sent me a draft letter, made me a soldier, I cried. I didn't want to be a Sergeant, I didn't want to be the Winter Soldier, and I don't want to be assembling a rifle right now. But I did, and I am, and someday I won't have to.

Laura and the kids went to the house in Maine. We're not sure if the massive manhunts going on right now will lead to the farm, so we figured that they should leave just to be safe. Clint was sad to see them go. Not that he doesn't want them to be protected, of course, but he hated that his job had led the threat of an army to their doorstep. Which makes sense.

We're getting weapons ready, just in case. Steve is methodical and anxious, I'm tired and purposeful, Wanda is quiet and meditative, and Clint is...hiding something. I wouldn't be able to pick it up without all the training I went through in Russia, but it's clear that the archer I respect so much has betrayed us in some way.

I don't tell Steve. I could just be paranoid, though I doubt it. Besides, Clint has worked so hard to keep us safe. I don't know why he would endanger us right at the end of our time together.

Both Clint and Steve are tensely pacing, Wanda lying down upstairs. Though I want to comfort my lover, my eyes keep drifting to Barton. His flicking eyes. His twitching eyes. His obsessive phone checking. Yeah, something's definitely up.

I take a breath, and decide to break the ice. "Okay, Clint, what's up?"

"Hm?" Both of the men look at me in confusion, but Clint's eyes have guilt in them. I narrow mine and cross my arms, looking at him cynically. "You're hiding something, Barton, what is it?"

Steve opens his mouth to question my logic, but turns to face a now ashamed Clint, who starts talking. "Well...okay. So-I don't know how to say this. Look, I figured there would be a fight anyways, right? It would happen at some point, and we might not have been able to get any more allies-"

"What did you do, Clint," Steve's question comes out more like a statement, and he's got his scary face on. Which is pretty fucking scary, I might add. Clint laughs nervously in response, and who can blame him.

"Well, it's not official until I get the text-" His phone goes off. He checks it, and gives a wide, apologetic grin to Steve and I. "It's official. Tony knows where you are."

"What-?!"

"-Okay, okay, okayokayokay-oh hey, Wanda!" Clint gives a jerky wave to the Scarlet Witch who has just come down the stairs, alerted by Steve's yell. "Okay, so he doesn't actually know where you are, he just knows where you're going to be."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "And where is that, exactly?"

"The Leipzig/Halle airport in Germany."

"The fuck?"

Clint sighs, and plops onto the couch. He looks up, as if expecting us to sit down with us, but quickly realizes we want an explanation more than we want comfortable seating. He splays his legs haphazardly across the furniture and starts talking.

"Natasha was getting a lot of pressure from Tony to find you guys. Steve, Bucky, you weren't around when we started looking for you-obviously, we were looking for you-but Tony was sure that she knew where you went. I mean, she's always been so close with Steve, he figured that she helped him disappear. He grilled her and Sam so much, Wanda, remember?"

Wanda looks at him, unimpressed. "What exactly does this have to do with the Lipe-Like-Lipet-"

"Leipzig/Halle airport in Germany," Clint corrects, "And I'm getting there. So Nat's getting a lot of heat, right? And then Wanda disappears too, and Tony refuses to believe that's a coincidence. He's staying respectful, for now, but he still doesn't trust her. And they've been friends ever since she pretended to be his secretary, so that hurts the feelings she won't admit to having."

"So told her to reveal our location just so that she and Tony can stay buddies? That doesn't make sense, Clint." I say, not understanding his logic.

He rolls his eyes and grabs his head in his frustration. "Oh my GOD you guys, let me finish! So I was thinking, and I kind of don't want my house to be where a bunch of angsty superheroes have a massive battle. And it doesn't really make sense for us to just keep on waiting to be discovered. I do want to see my kids, you know, and they can't exactly come back home until we're sure it's safe here."

"So you and Natasha agreed on an area to meet, where we can just get the fighting over with," Steve says slowly, his posture more relaxed.

"Exactly!" Clint exudes, "We had it evacuated, so no civilians get caught in the crossfire. We can leave in a little bit here, there isn't much of a rush since Natasha only told them the country. We can go to the airport, pretend to talk things out, and then bludgen each other like civilized people.

"Sorry, guys, I really meant to tell you we planned this. I guess I just got a little nervous, you know, I knew you wouldn't be happy that I arranged all of this behind your back, I just-"

"So, are we going to pick up Sam before we go?" I ask, cutting off Clint's rambling. The Falcon and I have never really clicked, but I respect him as Steve's close friend and recognize his worth in a fight.

"Yep," says Clint, "Him and the, uh, the bug boy. Nope, not the bug boy-"

Steve furrows his eyebrows. "The Ant-Man? I knew Sam was looking for him, didn't realize that he'd found him. He agreed to help us?"

"Sure did. I like the guy, talked with him a little on the phone. A little overenthusiastic, maybe, but he seems nice. Plus, he beat up Sam, which is funny."

"So, we've got a team," says Wanda. Our eyes meet, and I see her hesitation to fight. We share that slight pacifism, Wanda and I, and I know that she wants to participate in this battle about as much as I do.

"We've got a team."


	20. A Place

The Leipzig/Halle Airport in Germany.

Steve, Clint, Wanda and I all cram into a little VW Beetle. My nerves start ramping up as we make our way to the evacuated airport, and I tap my fingers anxiously on the car door. This is the first time I'm getting in a fight since I was the Winter Soldier. I'm going to hurt people for the first time since I was the Winter Soldier.

We pull into a parking space and I get out of the car immediately. I sat behind Clint, who refused to move his seat up. I couldn't exactly scootch over, either, seeing as Wanda was seated next to me. I stumble out and try to regain the breath that seemed so hard to find while I was pinned in the claustrophobic little car.

"You okay?" Steve questions as he slams the drivers door closed, stepping over to me. I can't seem to respond, but he understands. He wraps his arms around me and envelops me in a quick but impactful embrace. "I know, baby. One last fight, and we're done."

I take a deep breath of calm air riddled with the smell of him. "When this is all over, can we go back to Maine? Finish renovating the house? Invite the Bartons over for holidays and walk along the beach every morning?"

"God, I hope so."

The revving of an engine startles me out of his arms, and we watch a white van make its way over to us. Sam steps out, and I see Steve's face light up at the sight of his friend. They share a hug, and smiling words I can't make out. Sam opens the back of the van, and a disgruntled looking man hops out.

"That's Ant Man?" Clint asks, "As in, the Ant Man that kicked your ass, Birdy?"

Sam gives the archer a dry look. "Put a little coffee in him, you'll see what he can do. And those are bold words coming from a pigeon, Barton." They smirk at each other, and I'm struck by the simple camaraderie between these team members. I wish I could've been a part of the team, the whole team, from the start. From what Steve told me, they were like a family. A family I've torn apart.

Ant Man-Scott-is looking at Steve with amazement. He walks up to him and starts stammering, exclaiming praise for his hero. Sam and I share an eye roll, right before Scott squeezes Steve's biceps. I let out a loud snort at that, and Steve looks at me with irritation. "Okay, that's enough. Our goal is to try to fix things, and try to escape if that doesn't work. Let's suit up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We're standing on the tarmac when the sound of two Iron suits starts approaching.

Tony comes first, and I see him lock eyes with Steve. He does not look at me.

"Hi, Tony."

Stark just keeps looking at him, before shaking his head with a scoff. "Jesus, after everything you've done, that's all you have to say? Hi?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"NOTHING!" he roars. It looks very cathartic. Shit, now's not the time, Bucky. "I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to sign the fucking Accords and stay out of my sight."

Steve is remaining much more calm than the blustering brunette in front of him. "You don't want to try to fix things? Try to end this before it starts?"

"Maybe I would want to do that if you hadn't run," he says quietly, "Maybe, if you had thought about anyone but yourself, I would want to listen to you. But you ran away, and you put Ross on my ass, and you made me betray my morals to send out a fucking manhunt for my friend. If none of that had happened, maybe I would want to fix things. But you can't fix something that doesn't exist, no matter how good of a mechanic you are, and I can't pretend that you haven't burned everything down in an attempt to live out your dreams without thinking about the consequences it had on us. On me. I'm not fucking listening to you Steve, you've said plenty. The only thing I want you to do right now is sign the Accords."

I look at my lover, who wears an expression of pain. "I can't do that, Tony."

"Jesus fucking Christ, does being an insufferable ass make you horny? Do you get off on it? Barnes, you would know, does-"

"Okay, Tony," Rhodey says, placing a hand on his friend's arm. Tony shrugs it off but stays silent, looking just about done with everything.

"I can't sign the Accords," Steve repeats, "I can't."

Tony simply looks at him for a moment before shouting, "Underoos!"

A figure clad in red flips over our heads, binding Steve's hands with some sort of glue and grabbing his shield.

Here we go, bitches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I find myself running with Sam. Although the two of us have never really hit it off, I think he's a pretty cool guy. We're towards the quinjet to escape when the sticky dude comes crashing towards us. I throw the full force of my punch at him, then gape in shock when he easily catches it.

"You have a metal arm? That's awesome, dude!"

The fuck? How does some skinny child in Spandex catch my punch like I'm throwing a pillow at him instead? I ponder this a few minutes later, as Sam and I lay trapped in Sticky Dude's webbing.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?"

"I hate you."

Once freed from the webbing, we make our way back to the tarmac to find chaos. Steve, Tony, Rhodey, a furry, Scott, Sticky Dude, Vision, Clint, and Natasha are all battling it out. Though I hate it, I follow Sam to the fight.

None of us want to hurt or kill the others, but we batter and bruise nonetheless. I keep trying to think of ways to get to the quinjet, escape with the rest of our team before anyone gets killed, but none come to light.

I start racing away when I see an opening, but the furry I saw earlier stops me.

"You killed my father," he growls, malice coating every word.

Shit, did I? If I could see his face, maybe I could tell-oh shit oh fuck he's attacking, shockingly graceful but frighteningly violent. I dodge his claws the best I can and try to stay alive.

Finally, I find myself racing towards the quinjet with Steve. We're so, so close when Vision emits a beam from the stone in his head. The hangar comes crashing down over the vehicle, but we keep running anyways. The signature red hue of Wanda's magic holds up the rubble, and we're able to make it in.

Natasha and the furry (I probably shouldn't call him that) are with us. She stops him dead in his tracks with her Widow's Bite, and tells us to go. Huh. I guess being friends with the people you're fighting does have its benefits. We board the ship and take off.

We ride in silence. I don't ask Steve what happened to him, he doesn't ask what happened to me. We're alive and relatively unhurt, which is all that matters for now.

"Shit," I hear Steve mutter, "Tony put a fucking tracker on me."

"Throw it out a window?"

"Good plan."

Once the little device has been safely tossed over the beautiful German landscape, I hear Steve sigh. "Sorry, baby, I just don't like fighting my friends. Are you okay?"

"You don't need to apologize for anything. That was hard for us both, in different ways. You're tired, I'm tired, unless you need to talk about anything let's just fly this thing to somewhere he can't find us."

The silence carries us to Siberia.

Now, I don't want to be here. I really, really don't. But it's a remote place that's the only real place we can stay without being found. Laura and the kids are in the house in Maine, and we would never endanger them by staying there with them.

So we're in Siberia.

I can see that Steve's curious. He knows that I don't like to talk about all those years I spent as the Winter Soldier, but he can't help to be curious. I understand. In a way, it's kind of nice to be able to let him see this without having to tell him.

We get out of the cold and look around. I avert my eyes from the cages and weapons, and feel Steve's arm squeeze me close to his side. I rest my head against his shoulder and try not to think.

Steve finds a kitchen full of nonperishable foods. I guess HYDRA isn't a big fan of fresh vegetables. I wander a little, looking for a place we might be able to sleep. When I see it.

Отчет о миссииШестнадцатое декабря тысяча девятьсот девяносто первого года

Oh.

Oh God.

I dimly hear a loud clanging, the sound of repulsors, but all I can see is that file, that innocent little file that holds...

Oh, God.

"How did you find us?" Steve, please forgive me.

"Do you really think I only put the one tracker on you, Rogers? I didn't think you were that stupid." Oh God, I'm sorry.

"What do you plan on doing here? I'm just trying to live my life." Stevie, I love you so much.

"At the cost of everyone else in the world? I guess my dad really played up your selflessness."

Forgive me. I'm sorry.

"Tony, I killed your parents."

I turn to face the Stark so resemblant of his father. The Stark now staring at me with nothing in his eyes.

"I killed them. I was under HYDRA's control, but I killed them. I crashed their car and shot your father and strangled your mother. To death. I killed them."

Mission Report.

December 16.

1991.

End of Book Two


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